


He's got fire for a heart, and I'm scared of burning

by Samcgrath



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And a happy ending, Angst, Auror Partners, Denial of Feelings, Jealousy, Loads of it, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Rating will go up, Slow Burn, and bickering all the way through, chasing down dark wizards, i repeat not a case fic, it's mostly just angst and pining, this is not a case fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:04:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 110,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4471643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samcgrath/pseuds/Samcgrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry returns to England to help solve a particularly tricky case but nobody bothered to mention that he'd be working with Malfoy, who seems just as happy about it as Harry. In his absence, the wizarding world has changed in ways Harry's having some trouble adjusting to while Malfoy struts around in his elegant robes and effortlessly charms everyone he lays eyes on. Months of grappling with his own feelings, trying to understand Draco's, pining day in and day out - it can get a little tiring especially when Draco Malfoy is as infuriating as ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Living out of cases, packing up and taking off

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a Harry Potter fic so do forgive if there's an obvious lack of experience in the writing. I had no plans to upload this till it was all finished but then I saw so many beautiful posts about Harry and Jo on tumblr today and just couldn't resist. So here's to you, Harry! Happy birthday, love!

An owl from Auror Descoteaux finds him at the worst possible time and once again, he wonders why owls never realize that they’re flying into an active mission and are basically giving up an auror’s whereabouts to anyone paying the least bit of attention.

It takes him a rather strong _Protego_ and three quick-fire _Expelliarmus_ spells to even defend himself against the two wizards who have locked onto his position thanks to the owl that flew right to him in the middle of a stakeout-slash-duel.

Nevertheless, he hasn’t had a thorough physical exercise in a while so he straps on and spits out spell after spell till both the wizards are lying unconscious across the room and the owl is nipping at his shoulder to catch his attention.

The message simply reads:

 

_Your return to England has been requested by the English Minister for Magic, and Ms. Hermione Granger-Weasley pertaining to a difficult auror investigation currently underway. I hereby relieve you of your obligation to the French Ministry until further notice. Safe travels, Phoenix._

_Florian Descoteaux, Head Auror - Ministère de la Magie_

 

Folding the letter nicely, he apparates back to his office and completes the paperwork for the wizards he fought off not ten minutes ago. The building is dead silent around him, then again, it is nine pm on a Friday and every single person working here is probably at the Palace of Beauxbatons attending the ball in honour of the Ministry’s successful run of 305 years.

Harry was also invited but he had politely declined and instead spent the time pouring over the case of the dark wizards which was proving to be more difficult than usual. Just when the ball was scheduled to start, he had figured out the crucial link and decided to go where he believed the wizards were hiding without informing anyone of his plans, even his partner on the case.

That’s probably why Auror Descoteaux hadn’t thought twice before sending him an owl.

Finishing up his report, he goes to the fireplace in the corner of the room to floo to the little cottage he hasn’t yet started to think of as home. After a quick meal of bread and cheese, he falls asleep on the sofa before he can even get up and change his clothes much less reach the bed. The duel seems to have taken a lot out of him. He doesn’t have any nightmares that night.

 

***

  
Morning finds him half-fallen off the sofa, which would explain why his back feels like it’s broken in two. With a loud yawn and a thorough stretch, he goes to the bathroom and relieves himself.

It isn’t until he’s pulling on his auror robes that he remembers it’s Saturday. And two seconds later, comes the realization that he’s not required to go to work, regardless of the day because he’s been temporarily relieved of his duties.

With a deep breath, he takes off the robes and hangs them up in the cupboard with almost-reverent hands. Then he goes about packing his warmest clothes for a trip to the place he can’t help but think of as home.

Two hours later, he has written about his trip to his landlady, to Auror Descoteaux and to Florian. His belongings are sitting in a neat pile of suitcases next to the fireplace and the portkey he hasn’t used in years is sitting by his hand, glistening in the sunlight pouring through the open curtains.

With a last look around the dingy little cottage, he shrinks his suitcases to fit into his hand and with his other grabs the shiny galleon and closes his eyes as he feels the familiar tightening behind his navel.

When he opens them, he’s standing in a small room and a young woman is looking at him with a soft smile on her face. She extends her palm forward waiting for him to hand her the coin so she can log his visit into whatever system they’re using these days to track international visits via portkey usage.

In less than a minute, she hands back the coin and an envelope addressed to him. Just as he’s about to turn around, she whispers, “Welcome back to England, Mr. Potter.”

 

***

 

 _Meet us at the Annual Fundraiser for the Department of Mysteries, the Ministry of Magic Atrium. Dress appropriately. -_ _Hermione_

 

That’s all the letter says and like most of Hermione’s correspondence, this one doesn’t leave much room for argument either. Sighing, he unpacks one suitcase - the one with his daily wear clothes - and hangs everything up in the cupboard.

He banishes the rest of the suitcases to one corner of his generously proportioned hotel room. As much as Ron and Hermione had insisted that he stay with them and as much as he wanted to be close to his god-daughter, he had declined their offer due to reasons he'd rather not think about just yet.

12 Grimmauld Place had been his second option but five minutes of standing in the kitchen where the Order had met that last time, and he knew he wasn’t ready to live there yet.

A hotel seemed like the next best option and a muggle hotel means only the people he wants knowing where he is staying, know. Three hours before the fundraiser is supposed to start, he apparates to Diagon Alley just so he can walk around and feel his own magic tingling in his veins just as much as everyone else's on his skin like a blanket of comfort.

Within the hour, word has spread that Harry Potter is back so he makes his way to the Leaky Cauldron and greets the few patrons who are staring at him. Hannah Abbott, who comes out from a door behind the bar - probably at hearing the ruckus in the pub, greets him with a warm smile. 

She also offers him anything he’d like on the house and who is he to refuse such a lovely offer? With a butter beer in front of him and a slice of treacle tart by his arm, he settles down at the bar with Hannah telling him all the news (read: gossip) she deems necessary for him to know.

By the time he bids her goodbye, he’s had two fire whiskeys and knows more about Neville’s likes and dislikes in the bedroom than he’d ever wanted to know. Also, he feels warm and homey with his magic sizzling just under the surface like it has somehow recognized coming home too.

The robes he had set aside to wear to the fundraiser are a bit scratchy on him but that maybe because he hasn’t worn them since the last time he was at one of these fancy events and he may have forgone washing them that time.

Oh well, it’s only for a few hours.

 

***

 

He hasn't seen Malfoy in months, the only time they see each other nowadays is at one of the lavish parties some minister or other famous person throws that Hermione strong-arms Harry into coming to. At events like fundraisers or anniversary parties, he sees Malfoy like he sees many other people he knows but not really.

And even then, he doesn't remember ever wanting to engage in conversation beyond the polite decorum of the galas or the Ministry parties they see each other at. Usually, Harry would be deep in conversation with Hermione by this point or nodding along to something someone is saying because he’s too polite to excuse himself from boring conversations. And that’s why, usually, he wouldn’t be observing Malfoy but that could also be due to the fourth fire whiskey he’s nursing. It's alarming in a way, to look at Malfoy as he works the room.

Harry has always known that Malfoy wears charm like a second skin but standing here at the annual fundraiser for the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry surrounded by everyone who is anyone in the wizarding word and watching Malfoy move across the room with an air of confidence Harry himself could never conjure, feels like he's invading on a private moment. It’s extraordinary how someone can be so elegant in their movements and their words, when they’ve had a life like Malfoy’s. All its ups and downs and quite literally, trials and tribulations with the rest of the room standing against him.

"Quite something, isn't he?"

Startled, Harry turns to find Rita Skeeter standing next to him with an alarmingly blue drink in hand and her quill smoothly floating over parchment to her right.

Even after all these years he has snubbed her, Rita Skeeter always finds him at these things hoping to get a quote from The Boy Who Lived.

"Sorry?"

She takes a careful sip of her drink and her eyes snap to his in a way that says she thinks she's got him.

"Mr. Malfoy, quite a sight at these parties. Takes after his father, I'm sure."

He wants to walk away from whatever this is but even he can't justify being this rude to the most prolific writer the Daily Prophet has ever seen. Hermoine has been on his case about how he can't use the _'I-killed-the-Dark-lord'_ card for everything.

So, he takes a deep breath and crushes the urge to just walk away from Rita Skeeter and her fucking annoying quill.

"I wouldn't know,", he says easily. 

"Oh I do, Lucius Malfoy did a lot of things in his prime and charming the pants off everyone in a room was definitely top of that list."

Harry has a flashback to seeing Lucius at Diagon Alley while he was there with the Weasleys, and how every word out of his mouth had been an insult about impure blood or lack of family money.

He doesn't say anything. Thanks to Rita Skeeter and her conniving little quill, whatever he says will be misconstrued so it's better to stay quiet and not look at her hoping she gets the message.

"You two have quite a history, I remember young Mr. Malfoy beside himself with rage when your name came out of the goblet of fire. Weren't you, ah, sworn enemies back in your time at Hogwarts?"

_Hogwarts._

That seems like a life-time ago now. Back when life was simple, everything was black and white and Harry only had the burden of the scar weighing him down. That and the expectations of Dumbledore keeping him up some nights.

Malfoy was an arrogant snob who hated Harry's guts and that made hating him back feel like an obligation.

Now, he's not sure how Malfoy fits in.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Uh, it was a long time ago."

"But you were?", Skeeter insists.

"He and I had a difference in opinion."

The quill beside her is scribbling madly and that's what makes him finally walk away. He's probably said something that's going to be tomorrow's headline.

"Harry!"

He only stops when he recognizes the familiar voice calling his name, oh thank god they're finally here.

Hermione looks every bit like the newly appointed Deputy Head of the  _Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes_ , her dress sits perfectly on her figure and Harry has a weird flashback to the Yule Ball in fourth year when she had walked down the stairs and every head in the room turned to look at her.

Next to her, Ron is looking bored out of his mind but at least he's wearing a three-piece suit this time rather than frayed jeans peaking out from under his robes like the last time.

"Did you just get here?", he asks.

"Yeah, Rosie did not want to sleep at all tonight. You've been here a while?"

He nods at Hermione, choosing to ignore her pointed look at the glass in his hand.

"Bloody hell, mate! You look like shit."

"Thanks, Ron."

He's so far past taking offence to anything Ron says that he can't even remember the last time when Ron’d bothered to censor himself around him. Hermione just frowns at her husband rather than hitting him on the arm like she would have back in Hogwarts.

"Have you been drinking all night?", she asks him with a very distinct note of reproach in her voice.

He sighs and downs his drink without answering her, she already knows the answer anyway.

" _Harry_ \--"

"Hermione, I'm fine. You should go participate, talk to people about whatever it is people talk about at these things."

She gives him one last long look before kissing Ron on the cheek and walking toward where Minister Shacklebolt is standing surrounded by a few Department heads Harry recognizes.

"She's been worried about you, Harry."

Oh great, all he needs is Ron looking at him with what seems to be a mixture of concern and disappointment in his eyes.

"I'm fine, Ron. She just needs someone to fuss over now that Rose has started walking and doesn't need her mum all the time."

The sheepish smile on Ron's face is screaming _'I'm so proud of my daughter.'_

At least he leaves Harry alone after that. Instead, he gets himself a drink too and starts complaining about how boring this party is. Harry absolutely agrees with him.

"--don't want her to think I'm not supportive of her career choice, y'know? So, I can never say no when she asks me to come to these bloody things but I'd rather be in my pajamas drinking butter beer and watching Rosie stumbling around."

He'd also rather be sitting beside Ron watching his god daughter trying to walk and failing like a drunken person.

"She knows I love her but sometimes I think she's worried that I don't approve of her jo--is that Malfoy talking with 'moine?"

Harry's head snaps up to look across the room at Ron's question and yes, that is Malfoy and Hermione talking to each other like he didn't call her a _mudblood_ more than once and she didn't punch him in the face.

"What the bloody hell?"

For once, Harry's just as shocked by something as Ron. He can't bring himself to look away from the pair of them and he isn't sure if it's because he's expecting Hermione to punch Malfoy again or if he's hoping she will, and he’s frozen on the spot waiting for something to happen.

Ron doesn't seem to have the same problem, he's knocking back his drink in a second and walking toward them with a mumbled, "I told him not to speak to her without me there."

And Harry's absolutely lost.

He watches Ron making his way over and the second Hermione sees him coming, her face transforms into a frown and Harry really doesn't understand why she would frown watching her husband approach when it's Malfoy she should be directing that frown at.

Discreetly, he casts an overhearing charm he picked up in France from one of his partners.

"--telling me how you've been working together on a case."

Harry can see Ron's face transform into a sickly pale colour, even more so than usual and his pinched features stand out against his red hair even more.

"I was going to tell--"

"Were you? Because I remember talking about your work just this morning and you didn't mention anything."

"Granger, I just wanted to--"

Hermione turns to look at Malfoy with a face that makes him shut up, which Harry completely relates with because he's been the person on the other end of that look more than anyone but he doesn't understand Malfoy's reaction. If anything, Malfoy should be sneering at her for interrupting him, his royal, pureblood arse and all.

"Ron, we'll talk about this at home. Malfoy, I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione's already walking away from the little group and Harry has to hurry to take the spell off, he only hears part of what Ron says to Malfoy as he starts to follow Hermione back to where Harry is "--warm her up to the idea."

He's still straining his ear to hear Malfoy's response when Hermione walks back to him with a face that says Ron is going to get an earful when they get home.

"What happened? Did Malfoy say something?", he asks her. 

He knows Malfoy didn't insult her but he doesn't know what that confusing conversation was about so he wants her to explain.

"No, he didn't. Just saying hi."

He knows she's lying but he can't exactly tell that he knows this because he was spying on her. Ron finally wanders over with a fresh glass of whiskey in his hand,

"Hermione, I didn't mean to lie t--"

" _Not here, Ron._ "

And for the first time, Harry feels that niggling discomfort since being back, feels like an outsider.

They've been the 'Golden Trio' - as the papers call them - for over a decade now and over those years, they've all separately come to the conclusion that keeping secrets from each other never ends well. But, that was during the war and with no imminent danger of deranged psychopaths wanting to kill them now, their lives have become quite different.

Of course, Harry understands that Ron and Hermione have private things as husband and wife but he's never felt like he’s being cast aside so blatantly. And Hermione, perceptive as ever, catches his discomfort and her warm hand comes up to settle on his arm.

"It's just work, Harry. I don't want to bore you."

Ron's face is openly defying what she is saying but that maybe because he's never been good at lying or hiding his emotions as well as Harry and Hermione are.

"Sure, no talk about work."

Ron brings up Quidditch and how this is finally going to be the season for the Cannons, Harry can't help but feel a faint ache in his chest. A muddled thought is running rampant in his brain even after he's reminded himself that Hermione and Ron can have secrets, they're married for Merlin's sake!

But the thought just won't disappear and Harry can't fight it anymore.

_They have a family of their own. Ron and Hermione and Rose, they're a family. You are not._

He pushes it aside and brings himself back to the conversation at hand, because he can surely wait to be masochistic till he's back in his cold and empty hotel room.

"Harry?"

He looks up to find Hermione watching him, she looks like she did when they were sharing a tent while hiding away from Voldemort just before the war. He was losing a bit of himself everyday those days and this was the look Hermione usually had on her face.

"Yeah?"

"Is everything alright? I know that you didn't want to return to England for a while yet but Minister Shacklebolt and I agreed that only you could do this."

He looks away from her worrying eyes to find Ron missing from their little corner they'd procured. He doesn't necessarily want to talk about this but knowing Hermione, she won't let him get away without hearing what she wants to hear.

"Where's Ron?"

She sighs, that long suffering sigh Harry has always associated with guilt and disappointment because Hermione only ever does it when she expects something she knows people are capable of. It's her way of saying she's been let down.

"He's gone to the loo."

Surprisingly, she doesn't push him to talk about her earlier comment. The silence makes Harry even more guilty, maybe this has been her plan all along. To let him stew in guilt so he'll start talking on his own.

"I know, about you and Kingsley and the case. I understand."

Relief floods her features like she wasn't sure Harry would understand. Sometimes, he thinks, she and the rest of the world don't give him enough credit for having a fully-functioning brain. But then, he remembers the kind of things that have left his mouth and he understands why he's not known for his wisdom.

"Oh thank, Merlin! I was so worried that you were angry at me for dragging you back."

He had been angry, very much so because Hermione was the one person who had to have known and who should've understood his reasons for staying away.

"It's alright,", he offers with a small smile.

"We really didn’t see any other option, you know. We’ve already lost three aurors to this case and it’s become somewhat of a suicide mission--”

She winces when her own words register, a part of Harry is surprised that Kingsley and Hermione would want to send him on a ‘suicide mission’, but then a big part of him is really not all that surprised.

He’s Harry Potter, he’s been going on suicide missions since he was eleven.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Her voice has gotten really quiet, like she’s moments away from crying. And proving Harry's standing theory since third year that Ron can sense her distress from miles away, Hermione’s husband appears out of nowhere and settles close beside her.

“Alright?”

Just one word shared between them, and Hermione relaxes into his side with a soft smile playing at her lips.

_He wants that. Harry wants that._

Something ugly and hot unfurls in his gut, rises into his chest and makes it hard for him to breathe. Even though people have compared him to an angel - a guardian angel - and would swear up and down about his goodness and his kindness and his purity, Harry can’t deny that one of the feelings he remembers most from Hogwarts, if not the strongest, is envy.

And he remembers the hot embrace that comes with it, the sensation of drowning in something he can’t even see. For the first eleven years of his life, he used to envy Dudley and the Dursleys, anyone and everyone because they all had parents and a home and love and warmth.

Then, at Hogwarts, as much as he was famous and wanted, he still envied others. Like Ron, for having a family that loved him more than anything. Hermione, for knowing so much about the wizarding world even though her parents were muggles. Seamus, for having a mum who sent him howlers. Even Malfoy, for being a part of the wizarding world all his life, for knowing something Harry hadn’t.

And now here he is, the Golden Boy, still envious of his best mates.

“Harry?”

He shakes himself back into the real world to find Ron looking at him expectantly. “Yeah?”

“I asked if you wanted to come over tonight, you look like you could use a chat.”

“I think I’ll go to the hotel. Have to meet Shacklebolt tomorrow, officially.”

He nods and doesn’t push anymore. Hermione, on the other hand, looks ready to push but then something seems to snag her attention and off she goes.

“Did you hear about that healer at St. Mungo’s who found a new cure for dragon pox? I’ve just heard from Madam Morrell, this might be the biggest breakthrough in potions and healing in a decade, if not more!”

Harry really has missed being around his best mates, the envy aside. He has missed Hermione going on and on about some new invention or about counter spells to spells Harry didn’t even know existed.

“That’s great but didn’t they already have a cure for it?”

“They did, Gunhilda of Gorsemoor found a cure in the 17th century but the illness was never eradicated. The Magical Bugs Ward at St. Mungo’s still gets a lot of cases so obviously the cure was not full-proof. Did you know that Dumbledore had been working on his own version of the cure for years? And they’re saying that this could be a breakthrough, that many other potions can now be brewed based on this that will have massive--”

“Talking about the dragon pox cure, I take it?”

Her rambling is cut short by Cornelius Fudge interrupting with his signature frown sitting tight on his face. After being ousted as the Minister for Magic, he’s been hanging on dearly to any smidgen of respect he can still get from anyone.

Harry was never fond of him, especially after the whole Umbridge business but public etiquette dictates that he can’t sneer at him. The only person who can probably still get away with sneering at someone in polite company is Malfoy.

He pulls his thoughts away from veering in that direction and politely nods at Fudge in acknowledgement.

“Yes, I just heard from Mr. and Mrs. Dawlish about it. It’s quite extraordinary.”

“That it is, and you all know the person who made a noticeable difference in finding this cure.”

Harry can sense Hermione’s curiosity and her disappointment at finding out that someone other than her was able to contribute to such a big development. He, himself, is curious about who it could’ve been. Cornelius is doing a weird smug smile while Harry tries to remember who it is that they all know and who’s excellent at potions, surely, if they've successfully made such a huge discovery. Better than Hermione at potions, there’s hardly anyone  -- _no._

He can’t help his eyes sliding over Ron’s shoulder and darting across the room till they settle on the one person better than Hermione Granger at potions. _No, it can’t be._

His musings are cut short by Hermione’s irritated voice, “Who is it, then?”

Cornelius’ smile widens even more, Harry really can’t understand how he once thought this was a nice man.

“Oh, they wish to remain anonymous.”

He slips away with an evil little smirk on his face, and Hermione looks .02 seconds away from hexing Cornelius and Ron is, as usual, occupied with the slice of treacle tart he’s somehow grabbed in the last half minute.

“Who do you think it is, Harry?”

Harry knows that it would take her all of three seconds to figure out who it is if she set her anger and disappointment and jealousy aside. Plus, she’d probably shoot the messenger, so to speak, if he told her what he thought.

“Oh, I don’t know. Someone from St. Mungo’s you’ve worked with, probably.”

She looks deep in thought and doesn’t notice the slight frown Harry can feel coming onto his face as he lies to his best friend for a reason he doesn’t fully understand.

“Probably.”

The rest of the night is much the same. Ron is almost always stuffing his face with a cake or a tart or something baked, Harry is still trying to solve the mystery of where all that food goes.

Hermione is lost in thought the entire time, she waves at a few people but her eyes are still clouded with determination. And Harry, well Harry, is still struggling with all that’s happened in the six hours he’s been back in England.

 

***

 

Harry wakes up to a loud ringing noise and remembers the alarm clock he’d forced himself to buy when he kept showing up late for his shifts back in France. It’s blaring some cheery song he hasn’t heard before and he wants to set the thing on fire for being so irritating when it’s so early but then in the middle of cursing at the woman cheerily singing at the top of his lungs, he remembers that he’s supposed to be at the Ministry to see Kingsley about his work assignment.

With a loud sigh of resignation, he gets out of bed and does set the alarm clock on fire with a quick wandless _Incendio_ , on his way to the en suite shower. As much as he’s looking forward to start this assignment, he’s also dreading seeing Kingsley.

The warm water of the shower cascades down his shoulders and his back, and he can feel the knots there loosening under the heat. He runs soapy fingers down his chest, wondering who he will be assigned to work with.

He really wishes it’s not someone who will faint at his sight or will bend over backwards to please him. People like that are the reason why he’d left shortly after completing his Auror training and decided to be an Auror in France, instead.

During his intensive six months of training, almost everyone he’d met fit into one of two categories: One, people who were fans of the Boy Who Lived and were over the moon at being in his presence. Two, people who were also fans and therefore knew what he was capable of and relied on him to do the assigned tasks while they watched on in either fascination or boredom.

It had made him exasperated every single day after training because apparently, Ron always got partners who were interested in hearing the tales of the _Golden Trio_ but they were also people who worked just as hard as him.

So, after six months of the same thing over and over, Harry had decided to have a talk with Ron and Hermione. He’d already been separated from Ginny who was not the little girl who’d fallen for her brother’s best friend anymore.

After parting ways with her, Harry had had a quiet few months. He’d been spending almost all of his free time trying to understand where he stood in life.

Ever since he’d found himself living in a tiny cupboard in a world where he was no better than invisible, he’d dreamed of being famous one day. And he’d got his wish, everyone in the wizarding world knew him or at least of him. He really enjoyed the fame, he can’t lie about that.

But, after a while, he’d started wondering if anyone would ever look at him like a person again. If he’d ever have a family, like he’d always craved. Being Harry Potter was getting in his way, he’d realized, and it was always going to be an obstacle in his professional and personal life.

Case in point, Kingsley had offered him a position at the Ministry the day he’d finished training. A post that would take a regular person five years of experience to get. Harry had politely told him he wanted to think about it for a few days.

In his personal life, Ginny had started dating Dean Thomas again and she’d told Harry point-blank that while she still admired Harry and loved him, she couldn’t see them together in the long-term. As much as he’d wanted to protest, he knew she was right.

And the day he was going to meet Teddy Lupin over at Andromeda Tonks’ house in the country, he was mobbed at the train station. That was the final nail in the coffin, so to speak.

_I like the fame, I like being not invisible but I don’t want to be a commodity. I don’t want people to overlook my mistakes, I don't want to always wonder if I'm any good. I want to be called a good Auror because I am, not because I am Harry Potter._

Hermione had tried to understand his reasons but Ron had declared that he thought Harry was under _Imperius_ or something. He just couldn’t understand why Harry didn’t want to be famous, why he didn’t want to be stopped on the street for a photo or why he didn’t want to be in the _Daily Prophet_ on a daily basis.

Harry had failed to communicate how being Ron Weasley and being famous for the war was different than being the Boy who Lived, and the whole thing had ended in a row where Ron had called him ‘too full of yourself, mate!’ and Harry had left in a hurry.

He didn’t want to do anything but be an Auror, he was sure of it. But he also knew that he could never be a regular Auror who got cases like everyone else, who had a partner who liked working with him because of his skills and not his name, in England. Here, he’d always be stopped in the street for an autograph, and be invited to galas every other week that he’d have to attend out of some misguided sense of obligation. He would always be the boy with the scar.

And then, Fleur had appeared out of the floo and startled him while he was trying to piece his life together. Her first words were, “The French Ministry is currently recruiting Aurors.”

Hermione had talked to Bill and her about Harry’s situation knowing that Fleur would be able to help him. She’d spent hours with Harry in front of the fireplace, describing France as she knew it and she made him believe that he could have a life there.

Two days later, Harry was employed by the French Ministry of Magic as an Auror and was assigned a partner whose eyes had widened when the Minister had introduced them but other than a five-minute conversation about the war, Auror de Lapin never treated him like a celebrity or mentioned his past except when teasing him in half English and half French.

Harry was happy there. He was an auror, he was a respected auror because of the cases he had solved and the wizards and witches he caught. People still stopped him in the street sometimes, he often heard his name mentioned in hushed whispers around him and it helped him to remember that he wasn’t invisible. But it was never as mad as it was in England, even on his few trips back he had been overwhelmed by how the English still hadn't stopped worshiping his name and his scar, years later.

Turning off the shower and pulling the hotel towel to his face, he steps out of the bathroom. His inner monologue had already taken twenty minutes and he might be late for his meeting.

Hurriedly pulling on his nice shirt and gray trousers, Harry rushes downstairs to the cafe across the street from where he can floo to the Ministry. He's trying to control his still wet hair when he lands in the atrium of the Ministry and almost gets lost in the parade of people there.

It’s ironic, Harry’s thinks, how someone walks by him jostling his shoulder without turning back to see who they’ve just bumped into. Everyone looks to be rushing around trying not to be late. Breaking away from the madness, when he finally steps into one of the lifts, he can feel eyes on the back of his neck. He’ll give it three--two--one...

“Excuse me, Mr. Potter?”

He pastes a smile on his face that Hermione would be proud of and turns around to find a young child holding onto a graying man’s hand.

“Hi.”

The child’s eyes widen as he notices the scar on Harry’s forehead, that’s the only explanation Harry can think of anyway as to why someone’s eyes would go so wide.

With an audible gulp, the child tightens his grip around his father’s finger and speaks again in a meek voice, “Did you really survive a killing curse twice?”

Harry almost jerks back at the question, hot rage swirling through his chest at this little kid who’s asked him something so personal and yet so publicly known. The child’s father pulls on his hand in an almost reprimand but all he offers Harry is a tight smile, which doesn’t stop the child from looking up at him expectantly.

His throat closes up around the whispered, “Yes.”

He turns around before the child can ask anymore inappropriate questions and the father can smile at him as if apologizing but not actually reprimanding his child.

Thankfully, the lift lurches to a stop and Harry gets off even if this is not the floor Kingsley’s office is on. He doesn’t think he could spend one more moment in that lift with everyone straining their ears to hear anything he says.

Once in the hallway, he notices people looking at him and doing double-takes, so he rushes toward the staircase at the corner of the dimly-lit hallway and starts climbing stairs like he’s got a dementor on his arse.

By the time he’s reached the seventh floor, he’s almost panting with his effort to breathe and runs head-first into someone.

An apology on his lips, the first thing he notices is the platinum blond hair.

“Malfoy!”

There’s a pause. Malfoy looks at him for a moment, expressions on his face change too quickly for Harry to even look at them long enough. And before he can even take another breath, that mask of calm and indifference settles on Malfoy’s face that he remembers so well from seventh year.

“Do those glasses help your vision or are they just ornamental?”

There’s no sneer on Malfoy’s face, no hatred in his voice. There’s only the slightest bit of judgement, as if he’s making fun of an old acquaintance. With a start, Harry realizes that he’s staring.

And in his haste to break the silence, he says something he’d probably berate himself for later when he’s alone.

"I haven't seen you in so long."

_Also, it’s a lie._

There’s a thoughtful expression on Malfoy’s face, just a flash of curiosity before he brushes it aside and meets Harry’s eyes.

"I had no idea you were looking."

Harry’s heard the words and a response is on the tip of his tongue but he can’t bring himself to look away from the calm grey of Malfoy’s eyes. So grey, it’s almost silver.

And above his eyes, his eyebrows are raised high almost touching his hair-line. Harry feels like he’s dozy on one of Madam Pomfrey’s famous sleeping draughts. Like he’s working a few precious seconds slower than the rest of the world, and that’s why he’s noticing and saying all these stupid things in front of Malfoy.

Maybe all the rushing up the stairs made him so winded that his brain isn’t getting enough air. Thinking of climbing the stairs reminds him of where he is, and he’s confused about Malfoy’s presence.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Excuse me?” Malfoy takes a step back in offense and that’s when Harry notices his clothes. He is dressed impeccably in deep green robes, with a letter clutched in his right hand and a teacup in his left.

His thoughts maybe a bit muddled but he still manages to come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why Malfoy would be holding a teacup on the seventh floor of the Ministry of Magic building.

"You're working here."

"Excellent deduction, Potter. Would you like your prize now?"

Somewhat ashamed, Harry bows his head and doesn’t answer. He’s still struggling with the discovery that Malfoy works at the Ministry, which both Ron and Hermione have failed to mention, and the fact that he’s still as quick and sharp-tongued as he ever was.

“Well, as thrilling as this was, I have work to do. Goodbye, Potter.”

He walks away before Harry can even respond, his robes swishing after him in the most majestic way. Harry remembers the only set of robes he owns that could swish after him, and the seven separate times he had almost stepped on them and fallen.

With a sigh, he looks around to see where Kingsley’s office is. It’s the same way Malfoy disappeared a moment ago, Harry realizes, as he makes his way over.

The door is magic, more than a usual door at the Ministry is, then again it is guarding the Minister for Magic behind it. Harry can feel the thrum of magic on his skin when he raises a hand to knock. Before his fingers can connect though, the heavy door creaks on its hinges and swings open.

On the other side is the person he least expected it to be.

 

***

 

Running into Harry Potter was a surprise his heart hasn’t recovered from yet.

Running into Harry Potter in a dimly-lit hallway of the Ministry of Magic headquarters while holding a cup of tea in one hand and clutching the letter Minister Shacklebolt had owled him two days ago in the other, was a surprise in the midst of a fairly regular day peppered with a few unusual instances in the three hours he’s been awake since this morning.

First, he woke up to a mouthful of fur and Abraxas loudly snoring on his face, quite literally, on top of his face. After coughing out the fur and relocating his seriously overweight cat to the bed, Draco had decided he was far too awake to go back to sleep.

Then, by the time he’d gotten showered and dressed for his morning meeting with the Minister for Magic, he’d realized he was almost an hour early in his morning routine. Seeing as how the weather was particularly nice, he’d decided to fly to work rather than floo in.

Except, he’d forgotten to put a sticking charm on his hair so they weren’t pulled back like he usually did on flying days. Instead, they had flown around wildly in the wind and had ended up hanging limply around his face by the time he had landed on the roof of the Ministry. So, he’d had to slick them back with water, something he hadn’t done in years. Not since the war.

So, with all the not-so-regular things that had happened so far, he was craving a bit of normalcy and that’s why he made his way over to the little kitchen on the seventh floor, to make himself a cup of tea this particular morning.

As much as he enjoyed magic and could not imagine a life without it, he’d learnt early on that a cup of tea made by a spell was nowhere as good as one he’d boiled the water for in a kettle and steeped the tea leaves for a perfect three minutes and then added a dash of milk to. He could actually feel something in him relax as he took a whiff of the freshly prepared tea, something close to anticipation had curled in his stomach as he’d picked up the cup and started walking toward Shacklebolt’s office.

And yes, he had been trying to reconcile the two very different parts of himself while walking down that corridor: One part, trying to keep his nerves calm as thoughts of his next assignment and the case Shacklebolt wanted to talk to him about ran rampant in his mind. And the other, anticipation of finally taking that first sip of warm tea--when some oaf had run right into him and almost made him spill the tea. 

Before even looking at said oaf, Draco had muttered a swift _Wingardium Leviosa_ and after making sure the tea was fine, he had finally looked away from the teacup to find wide, sparkling green eyes staring up at him.

Surprise was not the only emotion he had felt when he’d realised who he was looking at. Shock was a closer description, in fact, he had actually felt his pulse jump at the sight in front of him.

After all, he was looking at _Harry bloody Potter._

A wave of nostalgia had almost threatened to push him over an invisible edge, this was a face he used to see almost daily for seven years. For a quick second, he remembered life at Hogwarts like it was yesterday but before the bittersweet sting of nostalgia could get the better of him, he’d pulled himself together and said something snarky without even meaning to. As that was his default setting, he’d let instincts take over.

That whole conversation he’d made on ‘auto-pilot’, as the muggles would say. He hadn’t paid attention to anything really, because how could he when Harry bloody Potter was standing in front of him in the Ministry of Magic while Draco had been going on about his ordinary day.

And now, his day wasn’t ordinary anymore. He’d been thinking of work and his cup of tea, for Merlin’s sake before the Boy Who Lived decided to make an entrance and now Draco was struck by just what his life had become since he’d last seen the now unfamiliar face. He was somehow just realizing how much life had changed since they’d been at Hogwarts even though Draco had been here for all those changes in his own life.

He’d said a hasty goodbye and made his way over to Shacklebolt’s office. 

Now standing in the empty office, he allows himself to think. It is an alarming thought that he apparently measures his life in terms of when he’d last seen Potter but it also makes sense in a strange sort of way. He chalks it down to seeing a familiar face in a world that feels like it's full of strangers, and turns to look at the door when it creaks dangerously before swinging open slowly like there’s a secret stash of gold on the other side.

Draco stands straighter, ready to greet Minister Shacklebolt only for the door to open fully and reveal Potter standing there with his hand half in the air,

“Potter?”

Struggling with his annoyance and his curiosity in equal measures, he patiently waits for Potter to respond or at least nod to let Draco know that he’s heard him. A second later, Potter steps over the threshold and the door slams shut behind him.

It’s loud enough to startle them both. 

Walking with slow, calculated steps as if he’s intoxicated, Potter makes his way over to Draco, but he still doesn’t say anything. The silence is awkward, Draco thinks. Or maybe it’s just his imagination because his bloody tea has gotten cold so he can’t even sip on it in peace while he waits for Shacklebolt with Harry Potter standing five feet away from him.

"Since I’ve been away to France, I don’t know as many people there as I do here so I am not used to contemplating all the variables, seeing familiar faces. I didn't even consider the possibility of anyone other than Kingsley behind the door, much less you."

Draco is lost for words. Potter doesn’t look like he’s joking, on the contrary, he looks like he’s in serious contemplation of a very sensitive issue.

"Okay well, since the rest of us can't enjoy the luxury of being high on whatever you're on, I have work to do."

"How do you mean?"

"Excuse me?"

"You said I'm on something, but I'm not. At least, I don't remember taking any potions or--"

"Oh Merlin, why _me_?"

Potter’s face contorts into something a child might look like after being denied a fourth chocolate frog. Draco heaves a deep sigh, pulling his last bit of patience together and looks into Potter’s eyes.

"Look, Potter, I have an important meeting with Minister Shacklebolt right now. I don’t know why you’re here and frankly, I don’t care. So please, can we act civil toward each other and keep the small talk to a minimum?”

The door swings open with a loud bang two seconds after Potter nods at him. Minister Shacklebolt walks in and goes to sit in his chair without a single word.

“Minister--”

“Kingsley--”

Potter and he both stop and turn to look at each other in surprise, starting to talk over the other but Shacklebolt beats them both to it.

“Gentlemen, please take a seat. I wanted you two to get reacquainted freely, in my absence. Now that you have done, let’s talk about a more serious matter.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco can see Potter jerking in surprise at Shacklebolt’s words, much like he can feel his own body going stiff and ready to bolt any second.

“Uh, sir?”

“You two are going to be working together on the unidentified dark wizard case.”

Shacklebolt is staring at them both from across the table, perhaps waiting for an outburst which he does get--

“Sir, I don’t think--”

“What are you talking--”

Draco really wants to reach over and cuff Potter upside the head, why does the oaf have to speak at the exact same time that Draco is trying to say something?

“You are to work together so I suggest you both put your history behind you--”

“It’s not about that.”

“This is not about any history.”

Shacklebolt’s eyebrows climb a bit higher on his forehead as they speak at the exact same time once again and manage to interrupt the Minister for Magic mid-speech.

“--history behind you and focus on this case. I can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

“I don’t want a partner.”

“I work alone.”

This time Draco does turn a bit in his seat to shoot a glare at Potter’s head, maybe the last remaining brain cell in there will melt with the heat and then Draco will be able to return to his work, _sans Potter_.

“Look, we have already lost three aurors and they were all working in pairs. There is no chance I am sending either of you alone. Harry, I’ve asked you to be here especially for this case and I’m not sending you in on your own so you can be reckless. And before you say anything, I have been talking with the Head Auror in the French Ministry and Auror Descoteaux could personally recount how many times you were found almost dead after rushing in alone. You are not dying on my watch, Mr. Potter.”

Potter has the audacity to bow his head, probably in shame. Draco feels triumphant for all of two seconds before Shacklebolt’s eyes come to rest on his face.

“And Mr. Malfoy, no one knows Potions like you do. Or dark magic, for that matter. And you’ve been helping out on cases for a while now, and while I do trust you to work alone and not put yourself in a risky situation, like I said, I can’t lose anyone else. Also, you do have a talent - or shall we say propensity? - for finding the worst luck in any scenario.”

It’s his turn to bow his head and feel a prickling heat at the back of his neck. Shacklebolt may not care about his safety as much as he does about the Boy Who Lived, but Draco knows that the man appreciates his work and doesn’t hold his past against him like many others still do.

In the time he has been working at the Ministry, Shacklebolt has come a long way in trusting him. In the beginning, Draco used to feel eyes on him sometimes only to turn and find the Minister himself watching him skeptically. Over the years, Shacklebolt has placed his trust in Draco, bit by bit.

“I’ve had a room on the sixth floor cleared out that you two can use as office space. All the information we already have on the suspect is in the room, so I suggest you make yourself familiar with it. I don’t want you in the field till you can recall what’s in those files in your sleep. Any questions?”

Draco shakes his head silently, finds Potter doing the same thing next to him before Shacklebolt claps his hands, “Well, good luck, gentlemen. Be safe.”

Taking it as the clear dismissal it is, Draco gets out of his chair with the cold tea sloshing dangerously in his cup. He doesn’t stop to acknowledge Potter walking behind him and only hears Shacklebolt’s voice just before stepping outside of his office.

“And welcome home, Harry.”

***


	2. All this bad blood here, won’t you let it dry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, a few things that are due. First, apologies for disappearing for a good month there with no explanation. Second, explanation: the last two fics I started are still incomplete and I absolutely did not want the same thing to happen to this. So, good news: I've got at least 250 pages written of this and there will be regular updates now. Not so good news: it's still not complete but it's fairly close. So, here we go!
> 
> PS - Chapter title from Bad Blood by Bastille.

Harry is trying to process what Kingsley’s told him. It’s been close to ten minutes and he’s standing outside Kingsley’s office, still processing when the door swings open and the man in question steps out. He looks surprised to see Harry in the hallway, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead in a somewhat comical way.

“Harry?”

He feels a little drowsy again, he’d convinced himself that it was just the effect of seeing Malfoy so close after years of polite nods of acknowledgement from across rooms and the man’s sharp tongue that had left him feeling a little dozy but now he’s not sure if he didn’t accidentally ingest a potion or perhaps someone’s put a charm on him or--

“Harry?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Are you alright? You look a little unwell.”

“No, yes. I am. Alright, that is.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Uh, I actually wanted to talk to you for a moment.”

“If it’s about the case--”

“Why Malfoy?”

“Why not Malfoy?”

“I don’t--I’m not--okay. I don’t have a problem working with him.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“It’s just--I didn’t even know he was an auror.”

“He’s not.”

“What?”

“He is not an auror.”

“Then, why is he on the case?”

“He consults, Harry. On the difficult cases, sometimes. He actually works for the Department of Mysteries. And he knows more about potions and dark spells than most of our aurors combined.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Me, personally? No. Many others here at the Ministry? Yes. Especially given his family’s history which you know better than anyone, Harry, that Lucius Malfoy is a man I absolutely despise. And it took me some time to realize that Draco Malfoy is not his father. He was a child when some decisions were made for him and I am, in no way, defending his actions or justifying them. All I am saying is that I have enough faith in him to get this case solved and so does the Department of Mysteries.”

“Do you think it is a good decision to put us together?”

He can’t wrap his head around what’s happening right now but he trusts Kingsley to understand more than anyone. And if he thinks that putting Malfoy in such close range of Harry for an extended period of time is a good idea, then he is ready to accept that order.

“I think you two would have been rather compatible had things gone a little differently.”

He can’t possibly see what Kingsley seems to be seeing so he just nods his head and accepts KIngsley’s pat on his shoulder before the man disappears down the hallway leaving Harry behind to try to make sense of what’s expected of him.

 

***

  
Without checking if he’s being followed by the Boy Wonder, Draco slips into the break room to dump his cold tea into the sink with a latent sense of sadness and loss. He’d been looking forward to enjoying his morning tea before the Boy Who Just Won’t Let Him Live had decided to materialize and ruin all his dreams.

“Malfoy?”

Oh great, now here’s Weasley, come to ruin whatever is left of his decent mood. Honestly, Draco won’t be held responsible if he snaps at people all day after this start to his day.

“Weasley.”

“I asked you to not mention anything to ‘mione and you did exactly that.”

“She asked me what I was up to, I merely answered her.”

“Did you have to mention working with me, specifically?”

“If you must know, I didn’t. I mentioned the potion Fawcett was brewing illegally and she recognized it from something you must’ve said to her.”

At least Weasley has the decency to look sheepish, after all he’s not supposed to be discussing details of his work with anyone outside of the Auror Department.

“Now, if you’ve finished cornering me, may I return to my work?”

“I wasn’t cornering you, I just--she was mad at me for not telling her.”

“That’s a bit hypocritical of her, I think. Unless she told you about the half dozen cases she has asked me to consult on in the past.”

It would be comical really how Weasley’s jaw falls open, if Draco wasn’t having the most annoying day.

“She what?!”

“Asked me to consult on various cases, it was quite enjoyable working with her actually. At least, she knows what she’s talking about unlike most people in this department.”

Weasley’s caught between feeling fiercely proud of his wife and angry at her for not being forthcoming, and those are emotions quite literally spelled out on his face so Draco feels a little bad for the chap. Draco can’t imagine what it'd be like if he wasn’t able to conceal what he felt behind a mask of cool indifference, how difficult it would be to navigate life without a default to fall back on.

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

“I am, in fact, _not_ your marriage counselor, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“We don’t need a marriage counselor.”

“Okay.”

“We really don’t.”

“I did not disagree with your first statement.”

“But you’re making that face.”

“What face?”

Weasley points to his face, “ _That_ face.”

“This _is_ my face.”

“You look like you don’t believe me, what do you know? Has Hermione told you something?”

“She did not confide in me about your marriage, no.”

“But you know something?”

“I know a lot of things.”

“Mal- _foy!_ ”

“Are you whining at me right now?”

“You’re being a git.”

“ _I_ am? Are you sure about that?”

“You know something, you have that look.”

“Oh thank you, I practice it in the mirror every morning.”

Weasley’s face turns a colour very close to his hair, and Draco never thought he’d say this but after working with him on their last case, he has actually realized that he enjoys this friendly banter. Well, he enjoys annoying Weasley without insulting his family’s status and money.

And Weasley had said as much on one of their stake-outs last week, that he could see them being friendly if Draco didn’t go back to his Hogwarts persona. Draco hadn’t said it out loud but he’d thought it to himself, _that’s highly unlikely_.

“Don’t be a git. You know what I’m asking.”

“It’s just an observation.”

“Go on.”

“You spend a lot of time thinking about whether your wife would approve of your actions, an unhealthy amount of time really. If she married you, though Merlin knows why, then she must care for you as you are. Perhaps, spend a little less time worrying about getting her approval and consequently lying to her, and you might have less fights.”

Weasley looks deep in thought, he’s even let Draco’s little dig about why anyone would want to marry a Weasley slip.

“That’s not half bad, that is. You might do well as a marriage counselor, actually. If you can control the judging, the pointed looks vaguely suggesting everyone is an idiot and the sarcasm.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

“Wasn’t one.”

“Sure it wasn’t.”

“Wasn’t.” Weasley’s out of the room with just his head popping in, like having the last word is the most important thing so Draco lets him have the satisfaction.

Finally, Weasley leaves the break room and Draco revels in the silence. He hasn’t got a lot of friends per se, a lot of people who would jump at the chance of going to a party with him or would like to spend a weekend together but he can’t picture Pansy or Blaise or even Lily having the patience to engage in something as silly as banter.

He can see Pansy rolling her eyes at him, “Draco, darling, do you have to spend so much time with the aurors? You are losing your touch, dare I say. And what in Salazar’s name does it mean when someone says _brill mingin’ wkd_?”

Pulling himself away from his daydreams, he chances a look at his watch and realizes that he should be in the new office Shacklebolt assigned them and be reading through the files. _With Potter_ , his brain helpfully supplies.

Ready for another round of slow blinking and nonsense questions, Draco opens the door to his new office to find Potter standing next to the only window looking out. He doesn’t sense Draco’s presence, it seems, because he doesn’t turn around.

Shrugging, Draco takes out the bag he’d packed up after the case he’d been working with Weasley was solved and unshrinks it to its regular size. He’s in the middle of taking out his quill and inkpot and placing them on his desk when Potter finally turns around.

“Oh.”

Draco raises an eyebrow in question, waiting to see if Potter will say anything else but he doesn’t so Draco turns back to arranging the files some idiot has left haphazardly lying around without any discernible filing system.

“Those are the files Auror Eckers left about the case.”

He almost blurts out, _‘Are they, really?’_ , but stops himself from insulting Potter two minutes into their partnership. He still hasn’t figured out why Shacklebolt thought it was a good idea to put them on the same case, because surely the risk of them burning down the Ministry in a duel far outweighs the benefits their very apt partnership can bring.

“Okay.”

Potter looks like he’s going to say something for a moment but then he turns away and goes to sit at his own desk. There is a pile of files there as well and Potter seems to have taken off his robes and deposited them on top of said pile.

Draco settles down after having separated the files by author and deposited them by his chair so he can finally see the tabletop. With a deep breath, he picks up the file on top of the pile written by Auror Montague whose partner was the first auror who died while chasing their wizard with a well-placed _Reducto_.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Potter fidgeting in his own chair. Draco focuses on the file in front of him, reading about how Aurors Montague and Jenkins had responded to a disturbance reported by one of the Magical Law Enforcement patrolmen and had ended up chasing a ‘dark figure in a black robe, with a mask covering their face carrying a walking stick’ down Knockturn Alley.

Potter fidgets again and his chair creaks loudly in the silence of the room, Draco ignores the disturbance and rereads the last sentence. Apparently, the unknown wizard hadn’t stopped running into people until he’d reached _Borgin and Burkes_ and then disapparated without giving the aurors a single good look at him. Auror Montague had also made a note about a witness who’d seen -- _another creak._

“Potter, will you stop dancing?”

The man in question looks up at Draco with a pinched expression, like he had somehow expected the noise to go unnoticed.

“Sorry.”

Draco nods and returns to the file in front of him but before he can even start reading this time, another sound comes from Potter’s side of the room.

“Will you just repair the bloody chair?”

Potter looks alarmed like Draco has asked him to sacrifice a virgin witch for a blood ritual or something. He’s about to speak when Potter bites his lip and it irritates Draco to no end so he promptly shuts up and waits for the Golden Boy to utter a coherent enough response.

Potter answers in a meek voice, “I don’t know how.”

“You don’t know how to cast a _Reparo_?”

“I don’t know how to cast a _Reparo_ on a chair.”

Fighting the very strong urge to roll his eyes, Draco makes his way over and casts a quick _Cathedra Reparo_. He can feel Potter’s eyes on him and it makes him a little nervous but this is a spell he’s been using since he was a child because of the rocking chair his grandfather had left in the library that kept breaking every time one of the house elves tried to clean it a little too harshly. So the Golden Boy staring him will not make him mess this spell up.

“Thank you.”

“Most welcome, now will you please stop trying to ride that chair like a broomstick?”

He realizes what he’s said a second too late and judging by the way Potter’s cheeks are redder than an infant’s, he has realized it too. Draco is desperately scratching his brain to say something and make this situation less awkward but Potter beats him to it.

“I’m gonna go see Ron, wonder if he’s here yet.”

“He is, I just saw him in the break room.”

Potter’s eyes look ready to pop out of his head any second, so Draco feels obligated to mention, “No, I did not hex him, we are on better terms nowadays.”

“You are?”

“We just finished working on a case so yes, we have successfully spent at least fifteen hours in close quarters without maiming and or killing each other.”

“You worked with Ron? He didn’t tell me.”

“What is it with you three and telling each other everything? Never mind, don’t answer that.”

“I’m just saying he could have mentioned it.” Potter sounds like a berated child and Draco is sure that if Potter wasn’t staring at the floor, he’d see a pout on his face too.

He decides to take the shortcut out of this conversation; there’s been a tension in the room ever since he stepped in so he knows this line of inquiry is coming up some time soon, might as well get it over with.

"So you could be better prepared for seeing me here?”

Potter looks like a child caught with a bag of  _Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans_ hidden behind his back, acquired by less than honourable means.

“Relax, Potter, I was just as surprised at seeing you.”

“Yes, but I’m an auror and you--”

He cuts off sharply and Draco has a very good idea what he was about to say, but poking and prodding Potter is to be a favourite pass-time he seems to have hung on to even after their Hogwarts days.

“I, what?”

“I just didn’t expect to see you.”

“Right well, if we have to share a room for the foreseeable future, I would rather you ask me whatever you’re dying to ask than you mumbling and cutting yourself off mid-sentence every time.”

Potter’s eyes widen behind his glasses like he had somehow thought Draco hadn’t noticed the giant metaphorical question-mark floating over Potter’s head.

“How did you get work at the Ministry?”

“I had an interview and then about two years of training followed by--”

“I mean with the mark.”

“What mark?”

“The Dark Mark.”

 

***

 

Harry blinks, waiting for Malfoy to answer him. The grey eyes looking into his widen for a quick second before Malfoy looks away from him. Harry can hear Hermione’s voice admonishing him for being so direct but then he thinks of how surreal this whole situation is.

This is Malfoy, the boy who had spent seven years tormenting him in school. The boy who had quoted his family’s wealth and the purity of his blood in every sentence he spoke, whose father was Voldemort’s best commander and now Harry is sharing office space with Malfoy.

He thinks he has the right to ask how this situation has even become possible.

“I had a fair trial, and I paid the reparations asked of me. At the time of my interview, the Head of the Department of Mysteries thought I was competent.”

“Even with your family history?”

“Like I said, there was a fair trial.”

“I don’t doubt that but you have to admit that it’s very surprising that the Ministry would employ a former Death Eater.”

Malfoy flinches at the words, Harry finds himself staring because why would Malfoy flinch at that. He can understand that Malfoy’s not like he used to be or that he isn’t proud of his actions (which are huge assumptions) but why would he flinch?

“The war is over, Potter. A third of the wizarding world was on the wrong side, most of them are alive and repentant. They have to work somewhere, can’t all be sentenced to eternity in Azkaban, can they?”

It’s interesting, Harry thinks, that Malfoy flinched when Harry said _Death Eater_ and yet, he himself mentioned Azkaban without the slightest bit of distress in his tone, when Lucius Malfoy is currently serving his sentence in the prison where most people go insane within weeks.

“If your interrogation is over, may I return to my work?”

Harry feels a tug in his chest, inexplicably he feels the need to apologize to Malfoy. He’s not sure what for, after all he was only trying to get answers and he hasn’t said anything untoward, really.

And since when does Malfoy actually answer someone’s questions with decent answers, about his family nonetheless, rather than spit out insults for being disrespectful to the noble and pure Malfoy name?

Before he realizes he’s even spoken, Harry offers a truce of sorts.

“You have to admit though, it’s surreal being here with you. Working as partners on an auror investigation.”

Apparently, he’s said the right thing because when Malfoy turns around to face him again, he’s not frowning or looking angry. Instead, there’s a slight twitch at the corner of his lips which surprisingly, settles something in Harry.

“It is quite surreal, yes.”

“When I came back to England, I didn’t think I’d even see you let alone be sharing an office with you. After all this time, it feels almost like fate.”

“I know, it’s like everything we’ve done since Hogwarts has somehow landed us both here. Then again, we both do have rather narcissistic tendencies.”

Surprising them both, Harry finds himself laughing at Malfoy’s exclamation and the man in question shoots him a quick smile of his own. Harry knows he keeps thinking the word ‘surreal’ over and over again but even that can’t fully describe this situation.

Being in a room with Malfoy, laughing about how they both have something in common. What words could he possibly use to explain it?

“Well, if we’ve got the initial shock and awkwardness or whatever it was out of the way, do you think we can start sorting through the files? There are six months’ worth of reports waiting for us.”

Harry can see the tense line of Malfoy’s shoulders, the tightness of his mouth and he decides that if Malfoy is making an effort then so should he. He’s going to have a chat with Ron later but for now, he can be professional and he will be.

“Right, we can do that.”

He catches Malfoy relaxing out of the corner of his eye but chooses not to say anything about it.

“Good.”

They both get back to their desks, facing each other across the room. Malfoy looks perfectly in place even with his impeccable robes and his slicked back magnificent hair - that brings back so many memories from Hogwarts but now is not the time - he looks like he belongs in that chair surrounded by files and the dark grey walls of the room. And yet, he looks like he belongs in a prestigious office surrounded by ancient artifacts from around the world, with a secretary waiting on his hand and foot.

With a sigh, Harry picks up a random file from the mess on his desk and starts reading. He’s reread the same line about seven times, eyes glancing up at Malfoy every now and then to find him lost in his own file. When he has to read the same line an eighth time, his patience wears thin.

“I’m not very fond of reading.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

The second the words are out, Malfoy looks up from his file with wide eyes like he can’t believe he’s said what he has, like he said it on instinct.

“I mean, that’s alright. I can do the reading.”

Harry has half a mind to pick a fight, tell Malfoy off for being a git. The least Malfoy could do is apologize for his comment but Harry can’t picture Malfoy saying sorry, for the life of him.

“And what do you suppose I should do? Kingsley wants us both to know what’s in these files.”

Malfoy thinks about it for a moment, his fingers drumming on the desk in front of him.

“If I read them aloud, would you stop interrupting and pay attention?”

He’s offended for half a second and almost says something before reigning it in and nodding at Malfoy.

“Alright, I’m reading through them in a chronological order so you can listen and pay attention to anything peculiar.”

And that’s how Harry ends up sitting in front of the only window in the office, listening to the rain falling outside and Malfoy’s plummy voice reading through the files with comments of his own thrown in every now and then. Harry finds that if he’s not looking at Malfoy and rather staring outside as the water drops glide down the glass, Malfoy’s voice is - very surprisingly - quite soothing and gentle with all his surprised exclamations about the case and the occasional soft lilt as if he’s confused by something, and the note of intrigue every now and then.

Harry’s not quite sure but at some point, he starts thinking of words that describe Malfoy’s voice because this is not how he remembers Malfoy like sounding at Hogwarts. No, back then Harry would’ve said that Malfoy sounded like a posh git, always with an undertone of a sneer in his voice that made him sound like a stuck up spoiled brat.

Now, for some reason, Harry keeps thinking that his voice is silvery, mellow, even tremulous with the slightest hint of roughness. Every now and then, he’ll say a word with a sharp edge in the middle of that sort-of nasal but really velvety voice. For some reason, Harry can only picture a cake, a rich chocolate cake that melts on your tongue the second you take a bite and the flavour just seeps through leaving behind a full aftertaste. He needs to snap out of this train of thought and come back to the present, think about the case that's brought him to England.

He has no memory of falling asleep on the sofa in his office while it was raining outside and Malfoy was reading case files.

 

***

 

Abraxas welcomes him home with a look of pure scorn as if Draco is the scum of the earth for not being around to worship the Cat Emporer all day. As he’s toeing off his shoes by the door, Abraxas is perched on top of the sofa and staring right at him with judging eyes.

“Will you stop?”

Seeing as how he’s a cat, Abraxas doesn’t answer him. What he does is squint, he legitimately narrows his eyes and Draco once again wonders why he bothered to rescue the bastard and bring him home.

“Could you, for once, not glare at me and be adorable like other people’s cats?”

All he gets in response is a hiss when he tries to pat Abraxas’ head and that reminds him that his cat is an absolute bastard who has no qualms about clawing his face and that is why Draco named him after his grandfather. Well, mother thinks it’s because Draco thinks the cat is very graceful and regal which reminds him of his grandad.

“That's because _she_ doesn’t have to wake up to you snoring like a 180-year old senile witch every morning.”

A quick dinner and a full night’s sleep is what he’s after. Instead, Pansy’s face appears in the fire and he knows that he’ll end up getting too tired to even enjoy his sleep.

“Draco, darling! How was your day?”

“It was alright, and yours?”

“Oh, it was fine, thanks. Listen, I need your help with something, mind if I pop over for a bit?”

“Of course not.”

Abraxas jumps a foot into the air when Pansy arrives with a loud pop in the silence of the flat. She almost gets clawed but at the last second Abraxas seems to decide that these peasants are too far beneath him so he disappears into the bedroom.

“Woah, kitty’s got claws! He’s gotten even more violent than the last time I saw him.”

“At least you don’t have to heal scratch marks every morning.”

“Aww, poor Draco. Give him up, you lunatic!”

“Nah, I quite like having him here, despite the hissing and the clawing and the judgmental looks.”

“Only you, darling. Anyway, so I’ve got a bit of a problem and I need your advice.”

“Fire away, Pans.”

“Wait, were you in the middle of dinner?”

His tired brain doesn’t have the energy to override his instincts and so he can’t stop the jab before it’s out.

“No, I just enjoy sitting in front of the fireplace with cutlery.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, darling, it’s not a good look.”

He just rolls his eyes and goes to take another bite of the chicken tikka masala he’d gotten delivered in lieu of having to cook when he was absolutely knackered after reading through two months’ worth of files only to look over and find Potter shamelessly sleeping on the sofa, with his mouth hanging open. He dare say, the Saviour looked rather adorable with his glasses askew and his hair even more of a mess than usual.

“--are you listening to me?”

“Pardon?”

“I can’t believe this, I’ve just described my problem and you’re off in a mystery world somewhere.”

“I wasn’t in a mystery world, Pans. I’m just tired is all.”

“Well, I need you to listen so can you spare me five minutes?”

“Sure, go on.”

“Right, so remember that bloke I told you about? The one that said he knew someone who can get me _Amorentia_ , well that someone has been arrested for illegal potion brewing and I tried to go to someone else but--”

“What?!!”

“Darling, listen to me, alright? I really need that potion--”

“You do realize that they declared _Amorentia_ to be illegal last year, right? I mean, two young girls died, Pansy.”

“But I’m not a fourteen year old foolish girl, am I, Draco?”

“No, but it is illegal for anyone and everyone, you know that.”

“I didn’t come here for a lecture about illegal actions, alright?”

“What did you expect? For me to brew you _Amorentia_ in my lab?”

“Wait, you can brew _Amorentia_? Really?”

“Pansy!”

“Alright alright, no need to be touchy. All I wanted was to ask if you knew someone who can get me a strong love potion. I mean clearly, you have suddenly grown a conscience and won’t help me find _Amorentia_ but a half decent love potion will do, I suppose.”

“Dare I ask, why you need it?”

“It’s a long story, just know that it is very important.”

“And you can’t brew a love potion yourself?”

“Not a decent one, plus Potions was never my strong suit, if you remember.”

He winces at a memory from third year when Pansy had somehow got it in her head that Draco would go out with her if she could brew a decent Invigoration Draught. It had ended with him covered in green slime.

“Fine, I know a bloke who can do a decent one with mistletoe berries and rose oil. Just please, try to stay out of trouble.”

“You know I do.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Since when have you started being so righteous?”

“Since I started working for the Ministry of Magic after almost being sent to Azkaban for life.”

A shadow of fear crosses her eyes and he regrets saying it. They’d all been scared for their lives and even though no one else from Slytherin was in any real danger of being imprisoned, they were all scared for him. He’s about to take it back but she interrupts him.

“You’re no fun anymore.”

“I’m sorry, am I too tame for you now?”

“Oh please, two shots of Firewhiskey in you and you’ll be dancing on top of that table with your shirt in your hand, swinging your hips like a rentboy ready to fuck.”

All he can do really is stare at her in disbelief because that was one time and he was utterly smashed and they had agreed to never bring it up again.

“Close your mouth, darling. You look like a working class child looking at window displays.”

He really can’t help but feel like he’s left a part of himself behind permanently, a part that could say things like Pansy does and mean them. Don’t get him wrong, he will still have a sharp comeback ready at the drop of a hat but he just can’t seem to say things like she does, not anymore.

Sometimes he wonders if it was the war, the experience of living through months of terror where nothing mattered more than saving his parents from the Dark Lord, that brought about this change. He remembers looking in the mirror of the first floor girls lavatory and seeing a version of himself he didn’t recognize - disheveled hair, rumpled clothes, dark circles under his eyes and sweaty skin. In that moment, he had realized that he looked absolutely filthy and a year ago, he’d have called himself a dirty mudblood just for the way he looked.

Slowly, through that entire year, he’d learnt a lot of new things about himself. One of them was that in the end, he didn’t really care about someone’s status or wealth, not when he’d faced death and everything had seemed so trivial in front of that.

“Are you still here?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Draco, are you alright? I know that we never talk about--you know, and well, I just want to say that I remember it. I haven’t forgotten, I just--I can’t leave the life I’ve always known and start fresh like you. I can’t change so much about myself.”

“I’m not asking you to, Pansy. We are who we are.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how someone can change so much in a few years. I mean, you’re still the same in many ways, I can still never win an argument if you’re fully present in the moment. But at the same time, I don’t think I’ve ever gone so long without hearing a dig at muggles or half-bloods.”

He hasn’t got anything to say to that. It feels like whatever he says, she’s going to be disappointed in him. And this is exactly why they don’t talk about anything to do with the war, what’s the point.

“Potter’s back, he is working with me on the new case.”

She looks like she’s had an epiphany, Draco’s almost scared of what’s going to come out of her mouth next.

“That explains your daydreams.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh please, someone just has to mention Potter's name and you completely wander off. I can only imagine what it must be like working with him.”

“It’s like nothing, thank you very much.”

“Sure, darling, you keep telling yourself that. I was wondering why you seemed to be so nostalgic today, it makes sense now.”

“I’m not nostalgic.”

“Do you usually lecture me on not breaking the law and look at me like you don’t know me anymore, then?”

“Pansy, it’s not--”

“Did you two hex each other yet?”

“No, I don’t think we are at that stage anymore.”

“I’ll bet you a thousand galleons you two will be screaming and hexing each other within a week.”

For some odd reason, he feels quite confident that it’ll never happen. He’s only been in Potter’s company for a few hours but something seems to have changed between them, the dynamic is all different.

“And you’re ready to part with a thousand galleons just like that?”

“If you’re trying to use reverse-psychology here, it’s not going to work, darling. I know you, you won’t last a week without hitting him.”

“Oh I think I will.”

“Thousand galleons it is, then.”

He bids her goodbye and retires to bed shortly after she leaves. Just as he’s slowly drifting off to sleep, he wonders if Potter ever got up from the sofa and went home or if he’s still on that lumpy sofa with his mouth hanging open.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, I'm quite insecure about this story since it's my first time and it's making me rather nervous. So, if you like anything please let me know so I know I'm doing something right. Also, if you hate something, feel free to tell me. And if you've got something you'd like to see happen in this, I'll see what I can do. Cheers!


	3. When all of your flaws and all of my flaws are laid out one by one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so much for the terrific response to the last chapter. I am so pumped about this fic, mostly because I can't wait to share this story with you all! Special shout out to It'sBabyGap on tumblr, they have been a constant motivation for a while now and I'm ashamed to say I can't even name them. Also, thank you to anyone who read and/or commented, it's a privilege to write for you lot! 
> 
> PS - Title is from 'Flaws' by Bastille.

Something sharp is digging into his shoulder, he tries to shake it off but the poking doesn’t stop and he slowly realizes that he’s asleep and someone’s trying to wake him up.

It’s _Dragomir_ , Ron’s owl named in reverence to the Cannons’ chaser, and it’s perched on Harry’s shoulder and is pecking away at him in an irritated manner. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Harry makes to sit up as the bird flies away with a flap of wings that almost gets Harry on the face.

It’s dark but he can still recognize the office he’d been given just hours ago by Kingsley. With a start, he realizes that Malfoy was with him and reading from the files and at some point, Harry must’ve dozed off and the bastard left him on the sofa.

The owl comes back and pulls at his hair impatiently, Harry takes the letter from it and rubs his eyes before casting a quick Lumos to check what’s in the note.

It’s Hermione asking him to come over for dinner. A quick _Tempus_ tells him that it’s just past nine and his stomach growls to let him know that he should eat sometime soon.

He stands up and stretches, hoping that the dull ache around his neck will subside soon or Malfoy will hear about it all day tomorrow for leaving Harry asleep on the uncomfortable sofa.

That’s a weird thought, he thinks, him complaining to Malfoy about something so mundane. Well, him complaining about anything to Draco Malfoy is weird enough. As he steps through the fireplace at Ron and Hermione’s, he’s wondering if Ron knows that Harry’s working with Malfoy now.

Ron is setting the table when Harry makes his way over toward the little lobby, and Hermione is carrying a hot case from the kitchen. Their daughter is clearly missing from the family picture.

“Harry, you’re here! Good, sit down. I was just about to ask Ron to check your hotel room.”

“I was at the Ministry, actually.”

“But it’s so late, it must be close to nine. What were you still doing there?”

Ron’s just passed him the potatoes so he’s a bit preoccupied to answer her and the smell of a home cooked meal would get him back from hell which means any chance of him subtly mentioning Malfoy as his partner is out the window.

“I fell asleep, Malfoy didn’t wake me up.”

He’s too busy digging into his potatoes to notice the twin looks of shock plastered across the Weasleys’ faces. When he does look up with a mouthful, he almost chokes at the intensity of the looks and only then does he realize what he’s said. Without any preamble whatsoever.

Hermione and Ron both wait for him to finish chewing but he can feel the pressure as his jaw works overtime. The second he’s swallowed, Ron screeches out the question like he’s in physical pain.

“You what?!”

“He’s my partner on the case.”

Ron’s face does something indescribable, he looks angry and disappointed and shocked but also resigned. Hermione, on the other hand, is no longer looking surprised and Harry would like to know just how much she and Kingsley discussed about getting Harry on this case.

“You agreed to it?”

“Didn’t have a choice.”

His stomach makes a hippogriff like sound to remind him that he needs to feed himself.

“But...”

“What?”

If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d say Ron’s envious of Malfoy for getting to work with Harry on a case when Ron himself never got a chance. To be honest, Harry would’ve loved working with his best mate too but even he can’t deny that Malfoy has a certain level of expertise when it comes to potions that is unparalleled and absolutely necessary for this case.

“Nothing, I just--I can’t picture you working with _Malfoy_.”

“ _You_ worked with him.”

Judging by the drop of Ron’s jaw, he didn’t expect Harry to know that or for him to launch that back at Ron in an argument.

“How’d you know about that?”

“A better question is, why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

He seems to stop and think about it, and it’s so unlike Ron to regroup before saying something that Harry wonders just how much they have all changed in these last few years.

“You didn’t want to know. That’s why you left, innit? I mean you came over every now and then and at Christmas and asked about Neville and Luna a bit but other than that, you didn’t want to know. Not about Seamus or Dean or Parvati or anyone so why would I tell you about Malfoy?”

“But you were working together with him, Ron. He’s working for the Ministry. He’s a bloody Death Eater, for Merlin’s sake!”

“This is exactly why, Harry. You’re--when it comes to Malfoy, you get obsessed, mate. Oh, don’t give me that look, we all remember the sixth year all too clearly.”

Harry’s not even sure how to respond to that, he had no idea that Ron had even noticed--well, that’s the wrong word. He just never thought that anyone gave his interest in Malfoy’s whereabouts a serious thought. So to have it thrown back in his face is a shock to his system.

“He _was_ up to something, Ron, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“You literally walked into a suit of armour, Harry, in case _you_ have forgotten.”

“I haven’t and that’s exactly why I was shocked to find out that he’s working at the bloody Ministry after he got a Dark Mark when we were in sixth year! You’ve been working with him on a case and you really didn’t think it was worth mentioning?”

“You hardly gave a fuck about Ginny but you wanted me to owl you about sodding Malfoy?”

Before Harry can even respond, Ron turns to his wife and huffs in annoyance, “See, this is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything.”

She doesn’t say anything in response but her silence tells Harry everything he needs to know. It’s becoming clearer to him now, they both know something and they’ve been hiding it from him. What about last night at the Ministry, he wants to ask.

“You knew?”

Hermione snatches her eyes away from Harry, like she does when he’s ashamed of something. When he doesn’t stop looking at her, she sighs and puts her fork down.

“Harry, you’ve been gone nearly four years now. A lot has changed in that time, as you know, but it’s different popping in every now and then and actually living here. There’s a lot you don’t know about things that’ve happened.”

“A lot you haven’t told me, you mean? A lot you’ve kept from me.”

She winces slightly at his accusation but doesn’t try to deny it.

“We can’t have told you everything, mate.”

_Oh great, jump in to your wife’s rescue. Good job, Ron._

“I’m not asking about everything.”

“Look, Harry, just--you left because you didn’t want to be here. We didn’t want to push you away even farther. You asked about things sometimes and we told you. You hardly ever owled and at Christmas, you were always too occupied with Molly and Arthur and George and Teddy and quidditch, so we played along.”

He gets it, to some extent. He had made an extra effort to keep himself separate from life here just so he wouldn’t feel home-sick, though he’s not sure what he’d call home at this point. Nevertheless, he still feels a little betrayed because it seems like Ron and Hermione made a conscious choice not to tell him about Malfoy and are currently defending their choice like they knew Harry would question it someday.

“But I still don’t get it, he’s a Death Eater. How did he get recruited by the _Ministry_?”

They both sag in relief, probably happy that Harry has dropped the previous line of questioning.

Ron holds up a hand while chewing to let them know that he’ll be answering that question as soon as he can finish eating. Harry takes advantage of the silence and shoves a forkful of potatoes and beans into his own mouth. They eat in silence for about five minutes, Harry feels like he’s alive again now that his stomach is not growling every other second.

He gets up to clear his plate away but Hermione stops him and points to the sofa in front of the fireplace. Ron is already pacing in front of the fireplace, looking like a commander planning a battle strategy.

Shaking his head, he gets rid of that image and walks over to sit down in the worn armchair Arthur had found for them.

“He’s not the same as he was back in school and trust me, I’d be the last person to believe it if I hadn’t seen it with me own eyes. It started with Neville. Just after you’d moved, Neville told me Malfoy had run into him and well, he didn’t apologize - I can’t see Malfoy saying sorry for the life of me - but he was decent to Neville, he said.

I told him to be careful, who knows what Malfoy’s up to, and he agreed. Then, he told me they’d met a few times and Malfoy hadn’t been a prick to him, in fact he’d almost acted like he wasn’t proud of what he did to Neville all those years. Mind you, still no apology but we know what Neville’s like and before I knew it, he’d asked Malfoy to come along when we the two of us were meeting.

I was on the edge the second I saw him but he just nodded at me. No smart comments about my hair or about how poor I was or anything, he just nodded and then we had a pint and it was bloody awkward but he never said a rude thing.

After that I kept seeing him around and then we had a bit of a chat once, just the two of us. It was about the weather and quidditch; he didn't insult the Cannons, by the way. From there, it just--it went on. Turns out, Malfoy had already been talking with Luna, they seemed well chummy, to be honest. In her own words, Malfoy had sat her down and told her how he believed his family had committed a terrible act against her person by keeping her in the manor forcefully and that he owed her for it.

I couldn’t believe it anymore than you can, I was suspicious of him but then one of those nights at the pub we all got plastered and guess who is a loud and obnoxious drunk? Malfoy is. Again, the word ‘sorry’ never left his mouth but he said some things that we’d never have thought of and I’m not saying we’re mates now but he is different. Then when I worked the case with him, and he still didn’t insult me - well he insulted me with that look he does - but not calling me a blood-traitor or whatever, I realized that he was okay.”

Harry can’t look away from the fireplace, the flames dancing there making Ron’s words swim around in his head. Ron’s silent on the sofa across from him but Harry can see the shadows playing across his face, he looks like he’s deep in thought.

“Honestly, I never thought I’d say it, mate, but Malfoy doesn’t seem to be like he was in school. Maybe the war changed him too.”

That last statement is said in a soft tone, like Ron thinks Harry needs to hear it softly so it won’t spook him.

“Maybe.”

He has his doubts. Neville, Luna and Ron are not gullible, per se but Malfoy could charm the knickers off a nun.

“Harry, just--he’s still a pointy git, so you have to control your anger around him.”

He almost wants to tell Ron that today he had felt no need to control his anger around Malfoy. It was quite the opposite, really, everything had been too quiet and nice and Harry had almost wanted to scream to make the easy companionship make more sense.

He and Malfoy never got along and it’s unnatural to think that they could now, He can’t see the two of them being compatible under any circumstances, which is why today was such a surreal experience for him.

“Sure.”

Before they can continue their conversation, Hermione appears in the room and finds a seat next to Ron. She looks like she has something on her mind.

“Harry, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Have you felt exceedingly groggy or sleepy today?”

“Yes, I--I felt like I was drunk and functioning slower than normal. Why?”

“Well, that sleeping draught i gave you last night, it was much more potent than it should be. I mean, I had made two draughts: one for you and one for Mrs. Dawlish that she needs for her son.”

He knows she’s got more to say, so he waits patiently.

“Who is a werewolf.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“I know, I just--I gave you the wrong vial, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, you were in a hurry to leave after the party and I got the bottles mixed up. And I’ve just now had an owl from Mrs. Dawlish saying that her son is restless since it’s very close to a full moon and the draught isn’t really helping. I thought maybe the wolfsbane potion she uses wasn’t good but then I remembered you saying you fell asleep at the office and I realized I must’ve mixed them up.”

The part Harry’s most fascinated by is the wolfsbane. Professor Snape was the only potions master who could brew a half decent wolfsbane and after his death, everyone had been worried about all the progress being lost.

“Someone’s doing a wolfsbane potion?”

That twinkle in her eye tells him that she’s already researched to her heart’s content about this.

“And a pretty good one, better than Snape, I dare say.”

“Really? Do we know who?”

“No, it’s being tested still and Mrs. Dawlish’s son is one of the people who volunteered for the trial. They won’t reveal any details till it’s full proof though.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, it’s finally giving a lot of people a chance to live normally.”

With a twinge in his chest, he thinks of Remus and by association, Tonks. That old feeling of loss settles into his bones and he knows it’s time to go back to his hotel room.

Hermione gives him another vial and promises that this one is milder and shouldn’t make him feel like he’s hungover from firewhiskey. Both of them look a little relieved but also a little worried and he doesn’t know what to make of it so he says goodnight and apparates straight to his hotel room.

***

After another dead-to-the-world night, he’s feeling particularly cranky when a loud chime from somewhere wakes him up. It’s coming from outside his window, and one look outside tells him the sun is shining brighter than it should be if he was waking up at his usual time.

Quick look at the time on the muggle wall clock tells him he is indeed late for work. 

The alarm clock he’d set on fire yesterday morning is laying in a pile of ashes on top of the side table. It’s mocking him.

After a very fast shower and no breakfast, he finally apparates to the lobby of the Ministry to find the morning rush not quite so bad as most people have already gotten to their offices and started working away.

Wondering if he’s going to hear an earful from Malfoy about being tardy, Harry opens the door to their shared office and stumbles on something but catches himself before he can greet the floor intimately.

Righting himself, he looks up expecting to see Malfoy laughing at his clumsiness or annoyed at his presence. The sight that greets him is something he could never have thought up.

At his desk bowed over a million papers is Malfoy, except Harry can’t see his face because strands of shining platinum are falling down and completely obscuring his features and Harry is struck by how long Malfoy’s hair is.

With his head bowed like that and the sunlight pouring in through the window behind him, his hair looks like a halo and the strands falling down look like an artist’s attempt at shielding a thing of beauty with the thinnest veil-- _what the fuck is he thinking?_

He’s in the middle of shaking his head to throw off those thoughts when Malfoy carelessly looks up and does a double-take. His hair swings in the air with the movement before long fingers come up to push it behind his ears and Harry wonders how come he didn’t realize yesterday that Malfoy had grown out his hair.

“Potter.”

Much like yesterday though, he feels his tongue turn to jelly as Malfoy greets him. Today, he can’t blame it on the sleeping draught though.

“Malfoy, it’s you.”

“I see the years have not diminished your powers of observation.”

Still a prick then, majestic hair or not. And Harry is still recovering from entering the room in a less than graceful way to find Malfoy sitting there at the desk looking like a renaissance painter’s freshly finished masterpiece. Also, the lock of hair that keeps escaping from behind Malfoy’s ear and almost falling into his eye is incredibly distracting so he’s not at all surprised at what comes out of his mouth next.

“I fell asleep here yesterday.”

Malfoy’s eyes are back on the files and he doesn’t bother looking up at Harry while answering.

“You did, and you looked like you needed about three days of rest even if that’s the not the most comfortable looking sofa.”

“So, you just left me sleeping on the sofa?”

He’s not sure why this is even an argument and why he’s interested in having this argument now but the moment Malfoy puts down his quill and looks up at Harry with piercing grey eyes, he regrets bringing this up.

Malfoy takes a second to speak, his eyes bore through Harry and through the utter silence in the room, his voice booms when he does speak, “What should I have done? Carried you to your bed, like a new bride?”

The heat creeping up his chest at Malfoy’s question is absolutely out of place. The way Malfoy’s eyes are unblinkingly staring right into his is also absolutely out of place.

The moment is broken by a loud bang down the hall, Harry looks away and silently walks to his own desk. Malfoy doesn’t say anything and the silence stretches on for about an hour as each of them works their way through the files on their desks.

Harry can’t help but replay his conversation with Ron last night in his mind as Malfoy sits ten feet away from him, studiously reading through case files and his stupid hair keeps falling in front of his face and distracting Harry.

“Potter, will you stop looking at me like you expect me to hit you with a killing curse?”

“I’m not.”

Malfoy raises a single eyebrow with practised ease and Harry knows that lesser men have withered from just this look directed at them. He’s not one of those men.

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Alright, so then how about we talk about the case?”

“Sure.”

“Auror Nettles mentions a scent in his notes. He says there was a specific smell he noticed every time they followed the suspect, something that smelled almost unnervingly sweet.”

Harry hasn’t gotten past the first three files so he can’t possibly offer anything but Malfoy doesn’t look like he’s waiting for Harry to contribute anything. Harry wonders if Malfoy knows just how much he doesn’t like paperwork and desk duties.

“And I only know of one potion ingredient that smells ‘unnervingly sweet’.”

“Unicorn blood?”

“Yes.”

They both scramble for the rest of the files on Malfoy’s desk to see if the scent is mentioned anywhere else. Two hours spent scanning through case notes, they have a huge pile with no mention of a sweet scent and a much smaller pile that does mention it.

“We might be on to something.”

He feels a thrill run down his spine at the anticipation, he has always loved the feeling of being close to undoing a criminal. Malfoy only offers him a smile before picking up another file.

***

He has no idea how long they’ve been at it, his back hurts from being hunched over and his eyes are complaining but it isn’t until Malfoy yawns and stretches where he’s sitting across from Harry on the floor that the tiredness in his bones makes itself known. Watching Malfoy covering his open mouth, Harry can’t help the yawn either.

“I think we might be on to something here.”

“Yeah, I think so too.”

Malfoy looks like he doesn’t want to stop pouring over files but Harry can see the taut lines of his body and he knows that Malfoy has read through twice as much as he has if not more. And if he’s ready to fall asleep any second then Malfoy must be too.

“I’m too tired to read another word. We should go over the rest tomorrow.”

He sees the flicker of relief in Malfoy’s eyes before he nods silently at Harry and moves to get up. Harry’s not sure why he said what he said, why he bothered to make a show of it so Malfoy wouldn’t have to admit being tired or wanting to go home. The git probably thinks it's a competition and he can't be the first to admit defeat.

“I’m a bit tired as well.”

 _Posh bastard_ , he thinks. Pretending he isn’t ready to keel over.

“The files will be here tomorrow, we can finish then.”

A quick goodnight and Malfoy walks out of the office looking like he’ll barely make it to wherever he lives without passing out. It’s a strange thought Harry has, _does he live at the Manor still?_

Without sparing another thought to his new partner, Harry walks towards the stairs to get to the Atrium. He’s almost at the staircase when he hears a frustrated voice from behind a door down the corridor. Curiosity gets the better of him like it always has as he makes his way over.

For a second, he thinks it’s someone engaging in matters of the sexual kind but then there’s another disgruntled groan and Harry could recognize that voice anywhere.

“Malfoy!”

His partner is on the ground looking for something in the dark room save for the sliver of light coming from the open door. He looks up at Harry with wide eyes and for some reason, Harry feels a pull toward him. 

“No, don’t close the door!”

The door swings shut behind him just as Malfoy finishes saying that, and the room is bathed in absolute darkness. Harry’s heart waits a beat and almost stutters in his chest before pounding in his ears. His blood runs cold within a moment when he realizes--he’s in a dark room and the door won’t open.

“No, no no no no--”

“It’s jammed, Potter. I already tried it.”

Memories of another lifetime threaten to overcome, to drown him in blind panic and misery.

“No, no it can’t be, no no no!”

Malfoy must notice something’s wrong because the next second, Harry feels more than hears movement and a body slides next to his.

“Potter?”

Harry can’t bring himself to move away from the door, he has to keep trying otherwise he might be stuck here for days, without food or water or anyone hearing him crying. He can’t live through that again, no--

“Potter?”

He feels a hand settle on top of his, it’s cold.

“What’s wrong, Potter?”

Malfoy’s hand pries Harry’s from the door. He’s very gentle, pulling Harry’s hand away slowly and gripping his fingers like an anchor.

“I can’t be here, I can’t--”

“Okay, just tell me what’s wrong. I’m sure someone will be here soon to get us out.”

“Why can’t we use magic? Did you try with your wand, did yo--”

“What do you take me for, Potter? You? I tried but there’s some sort of charm on the door and it flung my wand away. That’s what I was looking for on the floor when you came.”

“But there has to be another way, _I can’t stay_ \--”

“Okay, enough. Are you having some sort of a panic attack or something?”

“No, I just need to leave. I have to get out.”

“You need to breathe, just calm yourself down.”

Malfoy leads him away from the door; as much as Harry wants to just stand there gripping the door handle in his numb hands, he also can't help but let his body be moved any way that Malfoy wants it to. The warmth of another body next to his is a comfort he never had while in that cupboard.

“I can’t, I was stuck like this before. They locked me in a tiny cupboard and left me for days without food. It was dark and I was so scared--”

“Who’s _they_? Who locked you?”

Harry doesn't even realize what he's saying, not telling Malfoy about this doesn't even cross his mind. The cold hand on his arm is grounding him more than he will ever admit to anyone, including himself.

“My aunt and uncle, they were my only family after my parents died but they hated me. They made me live in a cupboard under the stairs all my life until--”

“What do you mean _made you live_?”

“I was a burden to them, why would they give me a room?”

“Are you fucking joking?”

“No, that was my life before Hogwarts. I was a servant to them, worse than. And my cousin practiced all his pranks and torture methods on me. Whenever I did anything wrong, my uncle would lock me in that cupboard and I can’t stay here, I have to go, I need--”

“My father did that sometimes, to discipline me. He always said, ‘Malfoys are to be calm and composed, always. You can’t show your true emotions, Draco’. And as you know, I was terrible at keeping a straight face, always sneering or getting angry or something. So, he used to lock me in my room so I’d learn to obey.”

Harry can’t help but imagine little Draco kicking and screaming as Lucius locked him up because a little boy wasn’t burying all his emotions and feelings behind a mask fit to be a Malfoy. And for some reason, Harry can’t help but feel a sense of brotherhood. Even though they didn’t know each other as children and then hated each other when they did meet, they both had terrible childhoods.

Somehow, being locked in a dark room with Harry seconds close to breaking down turns into them revealing their deepest secrets while sitting in a strange room waiting for someone to come save them.

“--had to eat quickly otherwise she’d take away my food.”

“What kind of a heartless person would do that to a child? Although to be fair, Bellatrix did enjoy terrifying me with a quick _Crucio_ here and there during the war. She said she was preparing me for the worst if I was ever captured.  And her trying to teach me _Occlumency_ would put Snape to shame.  I suppose aunts are a special brand of sadistic witches.”

He doesn’t know what to say to Draco’s admission. They’ve steered clear of anything to do with the war since they’ve met but now that it has come up, he doesn’t know how to approach it. Then again, knowing Malfoy, he wouldn’t want Harry to bring it up again.

“I think you’re right, my aunt Petunia was jealous of my mother and she took it out on me for years. Her husband reminded me how useless I was everyday, her son bullied me relentlessly and she herself treated me like a slave. I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere, they never took me anywhere with them.”

“Did no one else know what was happening?”

“No one else knew I existed, they made sure of that. The first time I went to a zoo was Dudley’s 11th birthday and the lady who usually took me in when they went out was sick so they had to take me along. It was one of the best days of my life.”

“What a terrible lot!”

“And they didn’t let me see my Hogwarts letter till Hagrid found us on a faraway island in the middle of the night and forcibly gave me my letter and my first birthday cake. I didn’t even know what Hogwarts was.”

“You mean they never told you?!”

“No, they said my parents died in a car crash. And that I should be grateful they took me in otherwise I’d be out on the street.”

“So you’d never done magic before Hogwarts?”

“Not intentionally, no.”

“Well, that explains why you’re shit at it.”

“You git!”

Suddenly, the sound of footfalls outside the door surprises them both into silence. They’re both up and yelling for help within seconds. The person on the other side tells them to step back and wait. There’s a sound coming from the door, like someone is trying to wrench it free, and then there’s Malfoy standing very close to Harry.

Harry gets distracted by the sound from the door, and even though his heart is pounding in his chest and the blood rushing through his veins is making his ears ring, he finds himself turning around to see where the noise is coming from. Now that there is a chance they’ll get out of here, the reality of having bared his soul to Malfoy is finally settling in.

He knows the reason he's turning is so he can look away from Malfoy. He's just shared his most closely guarded secrets for the first time and it's Malfoy who knows this most intimate thing about him. Harry can't bear to look at Malfoy, to look up at his face to see what emotions are playing there even though it's almost too dark to see anything, to see anger or sympathy or maybe pity on that familiar face so he turns around to see the door opening and to find a young witch standing just inside the doorway. Harry's eyes swoop down to her feet but before he knows what's happening, he feels the world shifting around him.

Before he even realises that Malfoy has a death grip on his wrist or that he is tugging Harry around to face him, he feels himself getting pulled roughly and the next thing he knows, he's colliding into a hard chest, slamming into another body with the power of a thousand tornadoes as Malfoy's arms come around him like he's never going to let go.

Harry can hardly breathe like this, his face is smushed against Malfoy's chest, he's being held in a death grip, the likes of which he's never experienced but gods, it's so intense. Feeling Malfoy's arms around him, his long lean body against Harry's without an inch of space between them and the sheer strength with which Malfoy is clutching him - _like he's never going to let go._

And Harry feels like crying. All the emotions from the past half hour are swirling in him, bubbling so close to the surface and just waiting to overwhelm him.

_He's never felt so protected and yet so vulnerable in his entire life._

Not when Dumbledore was there to save him, or when Hermione saved him dozens of time in the face of death - somehow Malfoy clutching him to his chest like there's nothing more important in the world, somehow Harry feels the most protected he has ever felt. And yet, he feels bared.

Like his shield has been snatched away, like his skin has been scrubbed raw and now all that remains is the very core. All that remains is what he's been hiding from the world all these years. He feels like he can give up now, like he's done enough pretending for the world and after every mask has been ripped off, he can finally let go.

Except, Malfoy is holding onto him like he won't let Harry give up.

With a deep breath released into Malfoy's soft jumper, Harry realises what he's feeling right this instant.

_Bliss._

The woman at the door pointedly clears her throat and Malfoy pulls back from him like he’s been petrified. Harry steps back without looking up, and follows Malfoy out of the room. The light outside almost blinds him as he stumbles around a little before finally adjusting and walking towards the lifts behind the woman leading them.

It’s eerily quiet in the Ministry, everyone seems to have gone home. As he and Malfoy walk side by side through the lobby toward the Atrium, the silence is deafening.

Neither of them has mentioned what happened in the dark room. Harry wants to ask Malfoy to never bring it up again, but he’s afraid that saying it out loud in the light where he can see Malfoy will make it real. Right now, it feels like something he’s made up in his head. Something he had to do to cope with being locked up again, a dream. Saying it out loud will only make it real so he keeps quiet waiting to see if Malfoy will bring it up.

He doesn’t.

Harry says goodnight to Malfoy in the Atrium and apparates to a quiet street near his hotel and makes his way over. The bellboy nods at him and it serves his purpose just enough, it won’t be weird that Harry’s never seen coming or going outside his room.

His body protests when he tries to look at the hotel menu so he gives in and falls asleep without dinner.

Against well practised denial, _he remembers._

_That one time ages ago, in that hidden alcove on the third floor of the castle when he and Malfoy had been arguing yet another time about who knows what and in the middle of yelling and finger-pointing, Harry had somehow ended up pinning Malfoy to the stone wall._

_He remembers how they’d both trailed off when realization of the position they were in hit, remembers how Malfoy’s eyes had widened and the silence had stretched on for a few moments. And in those precious few moments, Harry had noticed how he could feel Malfoy’s breath on his face and out of nowhere the irresistible urge to lean in had almost made his knees buckle. A second of indecision, recognition flaring in Malfoy’s eyes and he’d been pushed away with a strong hand on his chest._

_Malfoy had left without a word and Harry had been left dumbfounded and frozen on the spot. The next time they’d seen each other, in the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, after a second of eye contact they’d both looked away and it’d never come up again._

_Harry had found himself thinking about it once or twice that year, wondering if Malfoy ever thought about it. Wondering what would’ve happened if he hadn’t let Malfoy push him away, if Malfoy hadn’t pushed him away at all. Then in the middle of his life being turned upside down, he had pushed the memory somewhere deep enough that it never came up until today._

And now, he can’t help but think of that day at the Manor when Malfoy had refused to identify him. Now, Harry wonders if Malfoy had ever thought back about the _fucking poetry_ in that moment. The only two times they’d been that close to each other: once, when Harry was sure they’d have kissed given another second and he’s not sure they’d have stopped at kissing either. And if they had, he would’ve lost his mind. The second, when Malfoy had refused to identify him and Harry had definitely lost his mind.

He dreams of standing in front of the Mirror of Erised and seeing nothing but himself there. Standing alone with no one there beside him.

***

Draco is lying in his bed, it’s almost dawn and he hasn’t had a wink of sleep.

Harry Potter’s secret is keeping him awake.

He just can’t imagine Potter being a little boy, living in a cupboard under the stairs and being starved and bullied by his own family. Draco’s brain is having trouble reconciling the two lives of Harry Potter he now knows.

The Boy Who Lived and became famous even before he could stand up or speak. The Golden Boy who became the first ever fourth participant to play and win the Triwizard Tournament. The Chosen One who was prophesized to kill the Darkest Wizard of all time. The Saviour who saved the entire Wizarding World at the age of 17.

And then, the eleven year old boy who’d never seen a zoo before. The ten year old who was used to eating like a starving man because he wasn’t sure he’d get to finish if he slowed down. The little boy who never had birthday cake before a strange giant man on a flying motorbike brought him one.

_Merlin, why me?_

He has a creeping suspicion that no one else knows about this side of Potter’s life, not even his closest friends. Neville has certainly never brought it up, although why he would even if he knew, Draco’s not sure.

The way Potter had looked at Draco just before apparating, with those shining green eyes almost begging him to forget, Draco really has no other choice. If he’d learnt this in fourth year, he would’ve made sure everyone knew of Potter’s past because that’s the kind of arsehole he was.

Now though, after living through hell where he didn’t even know if he’d see his parents the next day or even wake up the next morning, he’s really rather done with the bullying.

With a sigh, he pulls the sheet off and gets out of bed. There’s no way he’s going to get any sleep today, might as well get ready and get to work early.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, anything you liked? Anything you hated? I'm quite greedy for feedback, appease me.


	4. Something's different this time

By Friday, they’ve spent so many hours in a small room sitting on the floor with a flood of papers between them that Harry’s mind is no longer playing the word ‘surreal’ on a loop every time he looks at Malfoy.

More than that, he feels something like familiarity settling between them. There has been no mention of any dark rooms or confessions whatsoever, it’s gotten to the point where Harry is actually wondering if it really happened or if he dreamed it.

Malfoy had told him about a nice pub down the street from the Ministry that serves great fish and chips and they’d ended up going there for lunch together on Wednesday and then again on thursday.

The first day, Harry had noticed the raised eyebrows and the whispers from the patrons, and he had noticed the tense line of Malfoy’s back almost all the way through the meal.

“You’re sitting stiff like a plank of wood.”

“Gee Potter, it’s almost like the entire pub is staring at me trying to figure out if I’ve put an _Imperio_ on the Golden Boy.”

On Thursday, he’d relaxed a bit more. Though he still sat stiffly, at least he wasn’t shutting down every effort Harry made at a conversation.

In the office, they’d made a bit of progress. Most of the files had been read through by now and they were hoping that Kingsley would let them get out into the field on Monday.

In the middle of hours of reading and trying to decipher any clues, Harry was getting restless. He wanted to be outside, to be chasing down leads and actually getting something done. From the looks of it, Malfoy was also thinking the same thing. In fact, while they were arguing about possible theories just yesterday, Ron had come in but then immediately done a u-turn and walked right out mumbling something about being _cramped up_ and _going insane_.

Currently, Malfoy is busy scribbling something while he roots through a rather huge book on his desk, researching Merlin knows what. He looks like a madman who believes he’s on the verge of a breakthrough and Harry has skittered to the safety of his own desk just so he has something solid between him and Malfoy if the git has finally lost his mind.

Loud shuffling in the hallways outside tells him that it’s probably five and everyone is ready to get out of here and go home. One look at Malfoy and Harry knows he won’t go home before he’s finished whatever it is he’s doing. As much as he didn’t mean to, Harry has noticed how Malfoy has changed in the one week they’ve worked together.

When he’d first seen him on Monday, Malfoy had looked every bit as regal and elegant as he ever was. He’d almost been glowing, with his perfect clothes and his perfect hair. He doesn’t look out of place or rumpled even now but Harry can see the subtle differences: the hair that was a beacon of gold just days ago is now ignored and almost hanging limply around Malfoy’s face, there are beginnings of dark circles under his eyes that always looked tired.

“Malfoy, Ron and I are going to the Leaky for pints. Care to join?”

The git doesn’t look up straight away as if he hasn’t heard Harry but before he can let the sting of rejection settle, grey eyes find his and Malfoy does look like he’s going to go mad if he stays here one more minute.

“No, I must finish this.”

He looks down at the book without sparing Harry any more time, and Harry should let it go. He should get out of this office and relax over a pint with Ron because he deserves it after the week he’s had but something stops him. He won’t say _worry_ but it is close, he hasn’t seen Malfoy taking a single break apart from lunch and he’s heard about nothing of Malfoy’s life outside of work and he wonders if the man even has any friends he can go out with on a Friday.

_And why do you care?_ The voice in his head has a point, it does. Malfoy is just someone he used to know a long time ago and is now being forced to work with, but even he knows that’s not true anymore. It was true a week ago, maybe even two days ago but looking at the git now, Harry knows that he’s gotten past some invisible barrier when it comes to Malfoy.

His feet carry him across the room without his express permission but he doesn’t stop till he’s standing by Malfoy’s desk either.

“Come on, Malfoy, you look like you’re going to explode any second and take down the Ministry with you.”

The look of pure disdain Malfoy shoots him makes him want to get behind his desk again but he stands his ground. If he can defeat a Dark Lord at 17, he can withstand a little stink eye from a Malfoy.

“I meant that in a friendly way, like you could use a pint.”

Malfoy makes a sound of annoyance but otherwise doesn’t say anything and Harry’s wondering _why the hell is he so invested in getting Malfoy out of here?_

Alas, he’s got no answer.

“I’ll just stand here and keep pestering you until you come along, so.”

“Tell me, Potter, did Shacklebolt hire you for the explicit purpose of killing me one annoying habit at a time or is that just a bonus you added for fun?”

Harry feels like they’re back at Hogwarts for a moment, this winding each other up feels familiar in a way nothing with Malfoy has this week. He almost feels relaxed, like he’s finally getting comfortable.

“Bonus, just for you.”

“I’m sure.”

Finally, Malfoy closes the book and stands up, Harry’s a second too late to move and ends up standing too close to Malfoy when he gets up. Without even meaning to, he stays where he is until Malfoy turns to face him,

“Do you mind?”

“Right, sorry.”

He walks out of the office to wait outside for Malfoy, trying to shake the smell of broomstick polish that he’d caught a sniff of from Malfoy. The man in question comes out a minute later looking like he was never poring over files but instead was getting ready to pose for _Witch Weekly_.

***

Ron waves to them when they get to the pub, he’s already saved a seat but clearly he wasn’t expecting Malfoy to come along so they have to ask a young witch to switch seats at the bar.

“Malfoy, glad to see you haven’t turned Harry into a teacup yet.”

Malfoy offers an annoyed look directed at Ron but Harry doesn’t miss the small twitch of his lips and then it sinks in, it’s an inside joke between Ron and Malfoy.

“I came very close.”

They laugh it off and order a round of drinks but Harry’s mind keeps coming back to the the fact that Ron and Malfoy have inside jokes. The same Malfoy who never let go of a single opportunity to make fun of the Weasleys, the same Malfoy who called Hermione a ‘mudblood’.

With a start, Harry realizes that he’s the only one desperately holding on to the past. When he looks up from the bartop, he finds Malfoy looking at him but when he catches Harry’s eye, he looks away and excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

Ron turns to face him the second Malfoy’s disappeared, worry etched deep in his eyes.

“He didn’t really try to hex you, did he?”

“What?”

Ron’s face transforms into something so much like Hermione’s that Harry has to do a double-take. He moves his pint away a little, maybe he should slow down if he’s seeing Hermione’s features on Ron’s face.

“Malfoy. He didn’t actually try to do anything to you, right? I noticed you two are a bit awkward around each other still.”

“What did you mean by the teacup thing?”

“Oh, that. When Malfoy and I were working together, one of the trainee aurors was always trying to hit on him. Malfoy was clearly uncomfortable but he didn’t really say anything until the lad tried to interrupt a stake-out and Malfoy, well, he transfigured the poor sod into a teacup.”

“But that can’t be legal.”

“It isn’t.”

“So, did Malfoy get away with it?”

“The lad refused to give a statement and Malfoy being Malfoy didn’t even bother acknowledging it. I was the one who carried the teacup back to the Ministry since we both know I’m no good at Un-transfiguration spells. Turns out, no one here could counter Malfoy’s spell so we had to get it to a healer to bring him back.”

While the story is very intriguing, Harry’s mind is somewhat preoccupied by something else Ron’s told him. A lad tried to ask Malfoy out, Ron’s said that Malfoy was uncomfortable but was it because it was a lad who asked him or—

Before he can say anything else, Malfoy comes back and takes his seat on the other side of Ron. Harry lets himself look and finds Malfoy looking again but Ron raises his glass and breaks the eye contact. For some reason, Harry feels a thrill of anticipation run down his spine. But at the same time, he also feels like he’s treading on very thin ice and has to watch his step.

“Harry!”

He turns around to find Neville standing just inside the door with a huge smile on his face. He bounds over in his usual bundle of energy sort of way and pulls Harry into a hug without even giving him a chance to stand up.

“It’s been so long, mate!”

Only after releasing his death grip on Harry, does Neville look about and see Ron. Then, his eyes widen when he spots Malfoy, no doubt.

Harry’s stomach curls in discomfort at the thought of what’s about to happen, Ron’s words replay through his mind – _Neville’s okay with him now_ – but they offer no comfort and Harry is ready to step in when—

“Draco, I didn’t realize you’d be here too.”

A bolt of shock hits Harry square in the chest.

“Yeah, Potter here annoyed me into coming.”

And then he sees Malfoy smiling at Neville, the first proper smile he’s seen from the git and it almost knocks Harry off his stool. It’s not just a polite ‘I’m trying not to be rude to you’ smile, or a ‘yes, thanks for holding the door’ smile. No, it’s a proper ‘lips stretched thin across white teeth, so much so that there’s a hint of gums’ smile. The kind you reserve for your mates.

“Harry?”

He breaks out of his inner monologue and finds Neville looking at him expectantly.

“Erm, yeah?”

“You alright, mate? I was asking if you mind moving a seat over.”

With a nod, he picks up his pint and moves to the seat Ron has just vacated. Neville offers a quick thanks and waves over the barkeep.

“So, what’s it like working with your archenemy?”

Harry’s still recovering from the shock of Merlin-knows-what at this point, and Malfoy beats him to the answer.

“We’re not fifteen anymore, Neville. And who even says arch enemy anymore?”

Ron’s laughter rings out loudly around the pub and Harry’s sure some heads are turning to stare at the unusual group of them.

“What, would you prefer ‘nemesis’, then?”

“I’d prefer nothing, thanks very much.”

“Oh come on. I, for one, never thought I’d see the day you and Harry would even be in a room together for ten minutes and come out unharmed. You, Ron?”

The red-haired tosser just shakes his head from side to side so vehemently like Neville’s just asked him to skin a rabbit.

Malfoy’s nose twitches and Harry’s horrified to find his brain thinks of the word _adorable_. To do away with the uneasiness he can feel in his stomach at the realization, he chugs what’s left of his beer in a single gulp. When he puts the glass down, he finds three sets of eyes looking at him.

“It’s been a long week.”

Malfoy raises his glass with a mumbled, “Yes, it has", and downs his drink as well. Ron and Neville are wearing twin looks of concern addled with amusement.

“So Harry, how’s it like being back?”

“To be honest, I haven’t felt a lot of difference. Probably because I’m stuck in that office all day and don’t have time to do anything else.”

“It’s the unicorn blood case, right?”

He just nods his head before turning to the barkeep and thanking him for refilling his glass.

“Yeah, Draco’s told me about it.”

And again, the sound of Malfoy’s given name falling from Neville’s mouth with incredible ease hits him like a freight train. He turns to check Ron’s face very nonchalantly to see if he’s finding this odd as well but his best mate seems to find it perfectly normal.

“—got us locked up in that dingy room with months’ worth of reports. He wants us to be able to recite the reports by memory before we can even step onto the field.”

“Sounds like he’s being careful.”

Malfoy pulls his glass away from his mouth mid-sip just to argue with Neville and through some miracle or another, Harry’s eyes have gotten stuck on Malfoy’s mouth. He turns his gaze away in horror, maybe he should stop drinking and go home now.

“Try 'paranoid'.”

“Three aurors have died, though. I’m sure he doesn’t want any more deaths on his hands.”

“Then he should join the Weird Sisters with a set of bagpipes, Shacklebolt should.”

Neville and Ron both find this funny while Harry’s still trying to figure out just how this outing with his best mate turned into him feeling like an outsider watching these people he thought he knew interact in ways he’d never thought possible.

“Anyway, enough auror tales. How’s Hogwarts?”

“Oh, Merlin’s toes! You wouldn’t believe what Scorpius did yesterday.”

Harry pulls himself together and makes an effort to be a part of the conversation, even though he has no clue who Neville is talking about. Ron and Malfoy are both looking at Neville like he’s Father Christmas and is about to hand out gifts any second.

“Wait, Harry doesn’t know who Scorpius is.”

He shakes his head at Neville and thinks he sees a pinch of sadness on his face, but it’s gone before he can even form a full thought and is replaced by Neville turning in his chair to face him more fully.

“Well, Scorpius is one of the first years who got sorted into Slytherin and he is a menace and I mean you, Ron, Hermione and Draco rolled into one menace.”

Harry’s face must betray the horror he feels because Ron and Malfoy both snigger behind their hands like schoolboys watching a mate get a grilling from a teacher. Neville shoots them a quick reproachful look and Harry sees a hint of Hogwarts’ current Herbology professor in his expression.

“He’s bad enough on his own but he’s best mates with Albus, who’s in Gryffindor.”

Neville seems to be giving Harry a moment to process that, while Malfoy’s eyes bore into the the side of Harry’s face as if waiting for how he’s going to react to this. He’s not sure how he feels, he can hardly see a Slytherin and a Gryffindor getting along let alone being best mates because that’d be like Harry and Malfoy being best mates and it’s that thought that makes him frown. Malfoy’s keen eyes are still looking at him and Harry’s sure that he’s caught the frown.

“So anyway, together those two are Hogwarts’ worst nightmare. I even heard Professor McGonagall saying they make the Weasley twins sound like a dream.”

Harry’s eyebrows rise up without his meaning to because surely, no one’s mischievous enough to undermine the legacy of the Weasley twins.

Meanwhile, Ron is nodding along as if he wholeheartedly agrees with McGonagall, and Malfoy is now staring at the table almost adamantly. Harry doesn’t let his thoughts linger and turns back to face Neville.

“So today, I found Scorpius hiding away in the girls lavatory on the first floor. Moaning Myrtle actually yelled at me saying how I had just interrupted the best part. I didn’t understand what she meant and Scorpius was red as a tomato by now so I walked him back to the Great Hall for dinner. Just as I was getting seated, I noticed Albus coming in late.”

Ron’s smile is wide enough to look painful. With a short wave of his hand, he edges Neville on, while Malfoy patiently waits. God, those two look like old ladies waiting to hear the latest gossip, Harry thinks.

“He went to sit at the Slytherin table even after he’s been given detention for doing so multiple times and that’s when I noticed – he was wearing a Slytherin tie and I swear to you, pumpkin juice came out of my nose when I realized what they’d been up to and what Moaning Myrtle meant.”

It takes Harry a second to get it but when he does, he finds his eyes wandering over to Malfoy only to find him still staring at the table but looking considerably less pale than usual. Harry looks away when he feels heat rising up his own neck. Why did he have to think of he and Malfoy being friends, _couldn’t he have thought of another Slytherin?_

“And the hardest part was trying to come up with an excuse because everyone else at the teacher’s table had noticed me spraying pumpkin juice everywhere and McGonagall gave me that look she has.”

Ron and Malfoy are laughing again, “Though it was nothing compared to when I looked up and found Scorpius looking right at me with a smirk on his face while Albus had his head down on the table, probably embarrassed out of his skin. I don’t know how I’m ever going to look at either of them without stuttering and stumbling.”

Another round of drinks later, Neville leaves citing an early start tomorrow and then it’s just the three of them again. Harry feels a little more at ease now that Ron’s talking about Rose and Harry knows enough about his god daughter to not feel left out.

“—looked up at me with these eyes and I just couldn’t say no. Then, Hermione came home and yelled at me for giving her so much chocolate.”

“See but that’s your fault, Weasley, for falling for a child’s attempt at deceit.”

“I’m not heartless, Malfoy.”

Harry has that uneasy feeling again in the pit of his stomach like something very wrong is about to happen. Surely, Malfoy won’t look too kindly on Ron’s exclamation; he’ll probably get offended and think that Ron was implying that _he_ is the heartless one. Even though Harry can’t fault Ron for thinking that but going by the way the evening has been, he’s sure that Ron wouldn’t have meant to offend Malfoy by--

“Are you saying that Granger is heartless?”

Ron’s eyes widen in surprise and he sputters, “No, but—“

“No, she just has enough balls to not be manipulated by a two year old.”

Harry finds himself laughing at Malfoy’s very accurate observation but it’s cut short when Ron shoots him a glare but really it’s the look of absolute surprise from Malfoy that really gets to him.

Malfoy looks like he’d never have thought that Harry would laugh at his joke, or even acknowledge his presence which is stupid because they’ve been working together for a week and now they’re getting pints together and— _and you still call him Malfoy and don’t know a single thing about him outside of work, not even that, even though he’s your partner._

Ron excuses himself to go to the loo leaving Malfoy and Harry alone at the table they’d moved to at some point during the night. A tension that Harry had somehow not felt until now is suddenly very apparent, surrounding them like humid air - too thick to breathe in or ignore.

Malfoy looks like he’s about to get up and make an excuse to leave. And Harry feels an urge to make him stay, if only to prove to himself that he’s not clutching to the past like a desperate man.

“Do you still live at the Manor?”

_And fucking Merlin, is that the best he could do?_

Clearly, he’s said the wrong thing because Malfoy flinches like he’s been slapped and Harry himself feels an uncomfortable tug in his chest. He has to look away from Malfoy’s eyes, they’re burning with something so close to fury that Harry’s surprised he’s not caught fire just from that look.

“Sorry, I—“

“If that’s your attempt at small talk, Potter, I suggest we stick to business.”

And that irritates him. It annoys him to hear that because how come Malfoy is friendly enough with Neville to tell him about what cases he’s working on and about his appointment at Madam Malkin’s tomorrow when they shouldn’t even be speaking to each other? All the while, he’s spent the last week working in the same room with Harry and they can’t even call each other by their given names. This exaggerated line of thought may have something to do with the alcohol swirling in his blood.

“I am your partner though, shouldn’t we be able to make small talk?”

“Not about that.”

“What, then?”

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable discussing my personal life with you, Potter.”

The exasperation he’s been feeling all night, the frustration that’s been bubbling just under the surface seems to be catching up with him. The sinking feeling that he doesn’t belong here anymore has definitely anchored inside his chest so he really can’t be bothered to keep up pretenses anymore.

Malfoy’s face, his _oh-so-intimate_ friendship with both Neville and Ron, and his not at all subtle attempts to keep Harry at an arm’s length are really making it much worse. Harry knows that Malfoy’s going to be at the receiving end of a rant that’s really a manifestation of months’ worth of suppressed anger and frustration. Anger and frustration Harry’s felt toward himself more than anyone else, but that doesn’t stop him from lashing out.

“You were just fine talking about your fucking hair with Neville - _not Longbottom but Neville_ \- who you bullied relentlessly for years, if I remember correctly.”

“He’s my friend, Potter. A friend, who I have made amends with and who is close enough to me for me to call him whatever I please.”

“And as your partner, _I can’t_ be extended the same courtesy?”

“What do you want from me, Potter?”

“I want you to call me Harry.”

“What’s wrong with ‘Potter’?”

“Nothing’s wrong with ‘Potter’. I just think that we spent all those years spitting each other’s names in anger and it’d be easier to leave all that animosity behind if you called me Harry and I called you by your name.”

“ _Which is_?”

“I know your given name.”

“Then, why are you having trouble saying it?”

“I’m not, it’s just--after all that time I’ve thought of you as Malfoy, it’s kind of hard to now think of you as _not Malfoy_.”

“Let me get this straight, you want us to refer to each other by our first names. While you are struggling with even saying my given name and have instead opted to refer to me as ‘Not Malfoy.’”

Malfoy’s left eye twitches. He looks like he’s biting down on a legion of expletives. Harry really doesn’t want to test him, yet he finds himself doing just that.

“Shut up.”

“What a brilliant comeback, Potter. I’m all out of arguments.”

“Just call me Harry!”

“Fine!”

“Good!”

When Ron returns, his eyes look very unfocused but he’s still somehow sober enough to sense that something’s happened between Malfoy and him.

“Have you two had a row?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Harry can’t help but glare at Malfoy who doesn’t even spare him a glance. Ron looks like an impatient father waiting for his children to come clean about the latest thing they’ve broken.

“Potter wants me to call him by his first name.”

Feeling a little more annoyed than he concedes he should, Harry cuts in before Ron can answer.

“It’s _Harry_.”

Malfoy doesn’t say anything in response and it makes Harry’s chest coil that much tighter _, why won’t the git respond to him?_

“Well, I mean, you are partners and if you feel comfortable doing it, then you should.”

“I worked three weeks with you, Weasley, and I never felt the need to call you anything but that.”

“Yeah but we were mostly in the field and with other people around. You and Harry are stuck in an office all day, I can see why it might be better to get a bit more comfortable with each other.”

Malfoy just sips his drink rather than admitting that Harry was right.

Ron provides a good buffer for whatever tension is lurking, at this point Harry’s not sure there was every any or if it’s all been in his head. Maybe he had set himself up for it tonight, expecting things to go awry any second and wounding himself tighter every time they didn’t. Maybe it’s because this is his first proper outing involving Malfoy - the silent lunches not included - and the surreality of having Malfoy around, being a part of his day-to-day life again still hasn’t sunk in.

They decide to call it a night before anyone has to be taken to St. Mungo’s in need of a sobering potion. Ron decides to floo home right from the backroom of the Leaky, he calls out a quick goodnight and disappears into a door leaving Harry and Malfoy standing awkwardly in the middle of the pub.

After a fair bit of gesticulating and not quite sentences, they end up standing outside the door of the Leaky Cauldron wondering who’s going to speak first or walk away.

“I didn’t mean to bring up the Manor earlier.”

“You are really good at not bringing things up, Potter.”

He winces at Malfoy’s pointed comment, he was hoping that they could end the night on a somewhat amicable note so that on Monday, when neither of them is drunk, nothing embarrassing from the weekend stands in the way of work. Except, Harry has once again succeeded in putting his foot in his mouth, a condition he was assured had improved significantly since he’d left England.

Malfoy definitely brings out the best in him, as always.

“Look, just--I would like it if we could work on this case without the shadows of the past always lingering around us.”

Malfoy tilts his head to the side thoughtfully and for the first time tonight, Harry feels like Malfoy sees him and is listening to what he’s saying. The warmth he feels settling in his chest has absolutely nothing to do with this.

“I’d like that. Good night, Harry.”

Before he gets a chance to reply, Malfoy disappears with a loud pop. Harry’s left standing there in the dark, wondering why hearing his name has never felt like a blessing before.

***

Abraxas is as welcoming as ever when Draco appears in the middle of his flat, staggering because of the disorientation of apparition and the firewhiskey in his blood. Added to that, the baffling conversation he’s had with Potter just now is not helping matters any.

Sliding off his shoes as he goes, he finally lets the mask of indifference fall. All the natural reactions he’d suppressed throughout the evening threaten to overwhelm him at once so he does what he does best: takes a long drag of the sleeping draught he brews on a weekly basis and retires to his bed.

The draught takes a while to settle in his alcohol-addled stomach so he lays there looking up at the roof of his room, thoughts swirling through the filter of drunkenness.

All evening, Draco had been treading lightly so as to not set Potter off. He’d been having a terrible week and by extension, a terrible day. And when Potter had asked him to come along, Draco could see the flash of pity on his face but he’d given in after being pestered by the Great One.

It had taken him less than five minutes to notice the unease and distress on Potter’s face once they’d made it to the pub and another five to understand why. The second Weasley had made the teacup comment and Potter’s brows had furrowed, Draco knew that the idiot hadn’t expected his best mate to actually get along with his new partner.

He’d kept an eye on Potter throughout the night, keeping a tab on just how uncomfortable Potter looked with a given topic of conversation. To nobody’s surprise, Potter’s face had looked like someone had cast a _Confundus_ on him when Neville came in and started talking to Draco with a familiarity Potter had no idea how much they’d strived to reach.

No, he hadn’t been there when Draco had first approached Neville - Longbottom then - and through mumbled not-quite apologies and action-based goodwill, he had finally convinced Neville that he wasn’t the same little shite he had been through most of Hogwarts.

Neville hadn’t been blindly forgiving either and while Draco hadn’t actively pursued him or anything, they had ended up in the same places quite often. And being in the same places had just facilitated conversations that started out stilted for lack of common topics but eventually conversations had bloomed to provide a slightly disorienting dynamic of their new interactions. 

Then, Luna Lovegood had been with Neville during one of their first planned meetings. Draco had stopped walking mid-step when he first spotted her. The last time they’d been face to face was in the Manor where she was held captive in the basement of his home for days.

He hadn’t moved from his place until she had walked up to him with a smile on her face and a polite, “Hi, Draco”, and led him to the table Neville was waiting at.

Even Neville hadn’t been calling him that yet so it was quite startling to find her using his name so easily and with no signs of contempt. He wasn’t the one who had held her captive but it was in his house that she probably had the worst memories of her life so he’d felt a sense of guilt.

It had been a very astounding encounter. She had said some very philosophical and equally confusing things which had somehow ended in her admitting that she recognized the tough situation Draco had faced during the war and didn’t hold him personally responsible for her time at the Manor.

At the same time, she had pointed out the several times before the war when Draco had been unkind to her and he’d sat there completely dumbfounded. He’d had no idea what to do with that. Most people held him responsible for his actions during the war, when he wasn’t in control and had no choice at all.

Luna Lovegood had told him point-blank that she was upset about his actions during his seven years at Hogwarts. The actions that no one was responsible for but him, no one was forcing him to do things then. With an even bigger start, Draco had realized that after the war and after being under a constant threat of death, he really didn’t care for his actions at Hogwarts either.

Before the war, perhaps he’d have defended his actions - bullying really, who was he kidding - by saying it was his will and he’d do whatever he wanted, or perhaps by saying his father could buy the whole school so naturally he had a right to torment students if he so pleased or maybe even cite his _Slytherin_ legacy. But he found that after living in a house with the most notorious wizard of all time and seeing his parents spend each day in absolute fear, he really didn’t care for any of those things anymore.

Eventually, Luna had forgiven him for everything. And as much as Draco enjoyed her company sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly philosophical, he still finds her to be an oddball. Honestly, he’d shove a knife through his chest before he lets her decorate his flat, which is what she’d very kindly offered when he’d first moved to London. And he had very politely declined because he didn’t need wind chimes made out of butterbeer caps and copper string, thank you kindly.

In the midst of recalling the times he’d started making friends outside the circle of of his privileged childhood, he falls asleep. Abraxas resumes his favourite position on his master’s face some time during the night.

***


	5. You crawl through my skin, and I let you in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some strategically placed bickering.

“Draco? Where are you? Don’t tell me you’re still asleep, it’s almost--”

Groaning into his pillow, he makes to get out of bed only to find Abraxas’ eyes glaring straight at him.

“Oh Merlin! You’re going to make my heart stop one of these days.”

“--in the afternoon, are you still in bed? Draco??”

Meandering out of his bedroom, startings of a dull throb behind his eyes, he makes his way into the lobby and promptly stumbles over the shoes he’d left in the middle of the room last night. Pansy shoots him a disapproving look but before she can say anything, he holds up a hand in her direction.

“Drac--”

“Go away.”

Ten minutes later, as a sobering draught is well into his bloodstream and a steaming cup of tea is in front of him, Draco feels like opening his eyes and acknowledging the annoyance presence in his kitchen. She sees him looking and jumps at the opportunity.

“It’s after one, Draco, and you’re looking like one of those people on the Knight Bus.”

“It is _Saturday_ , Pansy.” He choses to ignore the insult she’s hurled at him. Even though he hasn’t had a chance to look at himself in the mirror, he’s quite sure he doesn’t look half bad even if his hair is all over the place.

“Since when you have you gotten so lethargic? I mean you were never happy waking up but after noon, really?”

“I had a late night.”

“I can see that.”

“Why are you here?”

“I heard from a reliable source that you were seen leaving the Leaky Cauldron with Potter last night.”

He sits there in stunted silence because as much as he’d thought working with Potter was going to be hard in terms of the time they would have to spend together, he hadn’t given a single thought to how it would look when news of their partnership became public. _What would the Daily Prophet print when they heard? What would his mother have to say?_

“We’re working together. Isn’t it what co-workers do, get drinks in a social setting?”

“This is Harry Potter we’re talking about.”

“Oh really? I thought you meant the other Potter we know.”

“Don’t be smart with me, darling. I’m only looking out for you. You might have gotten over it but the world still sees you as Lucius Malfoy's son and as someone who fought on the wrong side.”

“This ought to help then, me being friendly with Potter.”

“Is that why you’re doing it? To gain some kind of favour--”

“Of course not. I don’t care what the world thinks, Pansy. If I stopped to worry about that rubbish, I’d be wanting to slit my wrists within hours.”

“I know you like to pretend that you’ve moved on and are above it all--” 

The haze of the hangover lifts rather sharply as her words lodge in his chest and make his breath hitch. “Excuse me?” 

“--still a _Death Eater_ and you working with the Golden Boy is only going to make it worse.”

“You know what, I have had it up to here with being told what to do. I’m not pretending to be anything, by the way. I have my nightmares and I’m living with them. But I will not have anyone tell me how to live my life anymore. Already tried that, didn’t quite like it.”

“And what do you think Rita Skeeter will say? Or _Witch Weekly_ \--”

“Pansy, love, you’ve mistaken me for someone who gives a fuck.”

“Draco, you can’t just ignore what the world says about you!”

“Watch me.”

***

The weekend was like an extended holiday, since Ginny had come over and invited him over to the Burrow. And by invited, he means taken his arm had apparated despite his weak arguments.

In the last few years, he’s only ever seen the Weasleys over Christmas and once or twice in between. This place, it reminds him of horrific times. Loss.

“Harry! There you are, I was wondering how long it’ll be before we see you here.”

He’s engulfed in a death grip before he can even right himself from the jolt of apparating. Molly Weasley’s hugs have always felt like being wrapped up in warm blankets and she still smells of lilies and mud, a smell Harry had started to think of as home some time during Hogwarts.

“Hi, Molly.”

“Oh, let me look at you properly. Have you been eating well, Harry?” 

He just nods his head and looks away because this woman has raised seven children through two wars and he’s nowhere near capable of lying to her.

“Good, Arthur and George have just popped out. And Ron, Hermione and Rose will be here for supper. Go ahead and find Bill, will you? He’s around and so is Fleur.”

He wanders through the house looking for anyone since Molly all but shoos him out of the kitchen. Fleur is the one who finds him and immediately sits him down and demands she tell her about France.

By the time Arthur and George return, he’s got every member of the Weasley family listening intently to his auror adventures in France. Ron and Hermione had shown up at some point with Rose, who was very excited to be around her godfather, it seemed. For the first twenty minutes anyway, after which she had fallen asleep in Harry’s lap all the while he was telling them about the last case he had worked.

“Aww, how cute is that?”

“She’d drooling all over you, Harry. Let me take her to bed.”

His arms tighten around her small frame when Hermione tries to pick her up away from him, involuntary possessiveness makes him clutch her closer to himself. He hardly ever sees her.

"It’s fine, 'mione."

Hermione sits back down without protest, she’ll probably be bringing it up later as evidence that he needs to spend more time around people he likes and should maybe think about moving back for good.

Dinner is a loud affair, as it always is at the Burrow.

George regales them with tales of the mischievous children who visited Weasley Wizard Wheezes today. A specific name stands out to Harry.

“Scorpius was there buying a pygmy puff. I have a suspicion that it was for Albus, especially since it was red. He specifically asked for a red one.”

“I’m sure we’ll hear from Neville all about it. Speaking of, he told us an interesting story yesterday.”

And then Ron launches into a rather detailed retelling of the incident Neville had described. Ron is a ghastly shade of red as he stutters through what he thinks happened in the girls lavatory. When he looks at Harry for help, he doesn’t get any.

“Neville looked spooked like he’d seen a ghost while Malfoy and I were just laughing our arses off imagining what Professor Mcgonagall must’ve looked like.”

Harry can feel a change in the atmosphere when Ron mentions Malfoy, it’s almost as if the temperature has dropped several degrees - and doesn’t that bring that bring back horrendous memories - but he keeps quiet until George turns to him with a question disguised as a statement.

“So I hear you’re working with Draco Malfoy.”

“Yeah, Kingsley made us partners. It’s because Malfoy knows a lot about--erm, well, dark spells and potions.”

Ginny moves about in her seat at his response and Harry knows she’s about to say something about Malfoy judging by the way her hand has clenched into a fist next to her plate.

“It’d be a miracle if a Malfoy didn’t know dark spells. There must be a ceremony at birth or something where they are taught how to kill and--”

“Kingsley said I needed a partner to keep an eye on me and make sure I won’t get myself killed.”

“And he picked Malfoy to keep you alive?”

Everyone around the table looks uncomfortable as he and his ex-girlfriend discuss the morality of his new partner. Thankfully, Mrs. Weasley cuts in before it can escalate into a proper argument.

“I’m glad he gave you a partner, at least someone will have your back and perhaps even keep you safe.”

“I really don’t think that’s Malfoy’s priority--”

Ron puts his fork down and turns to his sister before she can finish her thought.

“Ginny, please. If Kingsley trusts him, then we--”

“Has everyone here forgotten what he’s like? He’s a Malfoy, he’s related to Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“We can’t hold a child responsible for the actions of an adult who’s related to him--”

“Malfoy wasn’t a child, he was 17! And she was his aunt.”

“He’s a pureblood and by that logic, we are all related to one another.” Molly Weasley bringing up the concepts of blood purity is something Harry had never thought he’d witness yet here he is. All he sees around the table are people desperately trying to move on from the terrible memories of a war that tore them apart.

“Plus, you know what Neville thinks of Malfoy? Neville, whose parents were tortured by Bellatrix. He thinks it’s unfair to put blame on Malfoy for something his parents or aunt did.”

“Oh, so he’s an innocent now, is he?”

No one at the table except Hermione choses to answer her very unanswerable question.

“No one’s saying that, but we can’t hold grudges all our lives.”

“I can and I’m going to. Fred almost died because of Death Eaters and Malfoy is a bloody Death Eater! And why are you defending him, Hermione? He called you a mudblood!”

“He apologized for that.”

Eight heads snap around to stare at Hermione. When his fork clatters to his plate with a loud bang, Harry realizes he can’t feel his hands right now.

“He what?”

Ron is staring at his wife like she’s betrayed him but right now, all Harry wants to know is, “When?”

“It was a few months after the war, I ran into him at St. Mungo’s. He--well, he flinched when he collided with me and I thought he was going to say it again. But he looked at my face for a long second - I was ready to hear it again so I must’ve looked like I was dreading something, but he just looked around to check if someone was around. Then, he looked me straight in the eye and told me, ‘I regret what I said to you, my sincerest apologies’.”

“Why didn’t you tell me??!!”

“Well, he kind of asked me not to. I was just staring at him in surprise and he said, ‘I haven’t said it so you can tell everyone I am remorseful.’ He didn’t say it in so many words but I understood what he meant. Admitting a mistake is extremely hard for someone like him and he’d probably deny it if anyone asked. Not because he isn’t truly remorseful but because there’s a lot of shame involved in apologizing, pride being challenged and all that.”

“Merlin’s toes!”

“Yeah, I wanted to tell you but I wasn’t sure if you’d go find him and hit him for speaking to me or make fun of him for apologizing so I didn’t tell you.”

Ron is looking at her like he’s offended that she’d think this of him but everyone knows that three years ago, Ron definitely would’ve done one if not both of those things.

“He is remorseful of his actions. And Molly is right, he was a boy when the war happened just like Harry was. And he didn’t have nearly as much support as Harry had.”

Ginny pushes back her chair so roughly that the legs scrape on the floor, she turns and leaves the room without a single word.

“She doesn’t even know that I worked with Malfoy on my last case.”

“Ron, your sister has the right to think how she wants, just like everybody else at this table. Let’s not bring up this topic again.”

Ron obediently digs into his dinner without another word.

***

Molly finds him while the others are piled up in the sitting room, satiated after several helpings of pudding. He was bringing a pillow from Ron’s old room but the sight of everyone lounging carefree stopped him short and now Molly’s standing beside him also looking at her family.

“You are always welcome here, you know that, right, Harry?”

He just nods his head in lieu of a real answer.

“Ron told me you were staying at a hotel, not at their place. I know you’re struggling, Harry, but you will be just fine. And the doors to our home are always open to you.”

He feels that sharp warmth settling in his chest when her hand wraps around his and squeezes lightly, motherly love, he thinks. Only two people have ever invoked this feeling in him. One is Mrs. Weasley and the other is the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“Harry, what are you doing whispering over there with Molly? Come over here and tell me what is a stapler and what does it do?”

***  
Sunday he spends lazing around his room and then meeting Ron, Ginny, and George for a few quidditch games. He’s exhausted by the time he gets back to the hotel, his hair is caked with mud and so are his clothes.

They’d steered clear of any topics related to the war, especially Malfoy. Mostly, they’d talked about what everyone they knew was up to. Neville is teaching Herbology at Hogwarts, Luna is editing the Quibbler, Dean and Seamus had started a muggle adventures shop, and Lavender is working for George and Fred promoting the Witch products.

It all feels familiar and yet so new, being around the Weasleys and playing quidditch. Flying around aimlessly, with the air whipping through his hair and leaving him feeling invincible.

He gets back and falls asleep with the mud still sticking to his hair. He has a peaceful night’s sleep in what must have been months at least.

***

The next morning, he’s late again but this time Malfoy definitely notices. He’s at his desk again, tall piles of papers everywhere but his hair is no longer falling in front of his eyes which Harry knows because Malfoy very pointedly looks at him.

“I know, I know, my alarm didn’t ring.”

“Did you set it?”

_What a stupid question_ , Harry thinks. Of course he--

“I.”

“You didn’t, did you?”

“I _Incedio_ ’d it.”

“Of course you did.”

Malfoy returns to reading whatever he was reading before Harry came. In fact, they both settle in for a long day at work with no mention of anything that happened on Friday.

Harry’s trying his best to focus on what he’s reading and not on the man sitting across the room. Honestly, he wants to bring up their conversation but he doesn’t want to interrupt Malfoy, lest the git cut off his head for disturbance.

He’s in the middle of imagining Malfoy lifting Godric Gryffindor’s sword to attack Harry, his face twisted into absolute fury and--

“Potter, are you daydreaming about witches?”

“Huh?”

“Sometimes I wonder if the people who call you the hero of the wizarding world have ever actually met you.”

“You wonder about me in your free time?”

Malfoy does something with his eyes that Harry thinks is the equivalent of rolling his eyes if only Malfoy did such commoner things.

“Focus on the case, will you? I am certain that the smell described in these files is unicorn blood.”

“What did you find?”

“I went back and checked through the records of the Department for Care of Magical Beings and looked for reports of missing and or slaughtered unicorns corresponding to the dates our dark wizard was spotted. It’s almost a perfect match.”

“That’s brilliant, Malfoy.”

“It’s common sense, Potter.”

As is common when Malfoy is around, Harry speaks without thinking first.

“I meant what I said on Friday. I’d really like for us to work together like proper partners.”

“It’s just one case and you’ll be off to wherever it is you fled to.”

“Maybe, but you are mates with a few of my mates and I think it’s time we tried too. And it’s easier to get along when you’re not using someone’s last name.”

“Is someone pressuring you into being nice to me?”

“What? Why do you--you really think that low of me?”

“I don’t think anything of you. But sure, I agree about the working together thing. As long as you can get over what happened during the war, so can I.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

With that settled, Harry pens a quick interdepartmental memo to Kingsley to inform him of their progress while Malfoy is off somewhere getting himself a cup of tea, he said.

They continue to look through the Department of Care for Magical Beings’ records hoping to find another clue. Malfoy’s no longer sitting behind his desk. he’s commandeered the sofa which is sort of neutral ground since it’s almost in the middle of the room. Harry picks up his pile of unread files and relocates to the sofa as well. And then they work in silence around each other.

***

A loud knock interrupts Harry as he is reading Malfoy’s notes in the little leather bound notebook he carries. Kingsley is standing in the doorway looking at Harry in amusement. He doesn’t realize the reason till something touches his leg and he remembers that Malfoy was sitting cross-legged next to him and has now rearranged himself in front of the Minister for Magic, kicking Harry in the knee in the process.

Kingsley saunters in with a broad smile on his face, “Harry, I got your memo about the unicorn blood. Good job, Mr. Malfoy.”

Malfoy stirs next to Harry, it makes him wonder if it’s out of surprise. After all, _how likely is it that Malfoy would get praised even for things worth praise because he is and always will be a Death Eater?_

“Uh, sir, we’re almost finished reading the files—“

“Oh good, I was going to ask about that. So, Auror Montague has been on mandatory leave after the sudden demise of her partner but she has agreed to meet with you both at her residence this afternoon. Will that be a problem?”

“No, but is there a particular reason why we’re talking with her?”

“She may have seen something that she didn’t realize was important but now that you’ve read the files, you will know exactly what’s important.”

“That’s good, we can go right away.”

“Well, it’s almost lunch time. I’d suggest you get lunch and then pop in for a visit on your way back.”

“Sounds good.”

And they’re off to lunch. It’s actually not as awkward as the previous lunches. Malfoy—Draco isn’t really relaxed but he’s also not on the lookout like he’s expecting someone to hex him any second.

They’re waiting for their food and it’s been five minutes of silence. Harry would rather they didn’t just sit around and wait. It feels like he’s waiting for the bus next to a stranger. Well, only one way to fix it.

“So, what exactly do you do at the Department of Mysteries?”

Malfoy looks up with a start, and Harry can see surprise giving way to that indifferent look he wears every moment these days.

“I’m not allowed to divulge that information.”

That can only really mean one thing, “You’re an Unspeakable.”

“I can’t confirm or deny that.” There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes like he’s enjoying needling Harry. Which, of course he is.

“Oh come on, you can tell me, I am—“

“The Chosen One?”

“Well, I am but I was going to say I’m your partner.”

He’d be worried that someone would think him arrogant if he ever said that in front of anyone else. Well, Hermione would hit him over the back of his head like she does every time he refers to himself as the Chosen One or the Golden Boy, but he knows that the one person he can get away with saying this to is Malfoy. Malfoy expects him to be arrogant, he’ll probably think Harry says this to everyone.

“I’ve worked with you for a week.”

“You’ve known me for a decade.”

“Yes, well, we didn’t exactly go out for lunch and discuss personal matters through school.”

“Yes, but now we can.”

“Why are you so interested?”

“I just am, everyone else seems to know things about you.”

“Aw, feeling left out, are we?”

“No!”

“Oh come off it, Potter! I saw you making a face all through Friday night at the pub. You’re like a child whose best friend has made a new mate and you just can’t stand it.”

“Well, I just didn’t expect to ever see you again and then all of a sudden you and Neville are best mates and you have inside jokes with Ron. I’m just trying to—I don’t know what I’m trying to do. And it’s _Harry_.”

“You do realize that you’re the one who left while we all stayed. And if you had been here or so much as talked to Neville earlier, you’d know, _Harry._ ”

Malfoy spits his names like an insult and Harry’s tempted to tell him that if he’s going to say it like that then it sort of defies the purpose of using their given names but there’s something more important weighing on his mind.

“Wait, how do you know about me not talking to Neville?”

“He told me.”

And yet again, Harry’s overwhelmed with just how much has changed in his absence. Neville’s confiding in Malfoy, the boy who terrorized him for half a decade with every prank and insult under the sun.

“Is he mad about it?”

“He’s only just fought a war with you. And killed a giant snake, don’t know why he’d be bothered if you never bothered to stay in touch with him.”

Malfoy almost sounds like he’s miffed on Neville’s behalf. If he hadn’t spent the weekend coming to terms with the fact that Malfoy is mates with Neville and Ron, his head would be spinning all the way around right now.

“I wasn’t in the country.”

“And you never came back?”

“I did but only for holidays here and there.”

“What about the half dozen times I saw you at Ministry functions and such?”

“What--how do you--”

“I do have eyes, you know. Plus, I bet you met with Granger and Weasley all the time.”

Harry’s really struggling here. For almost a week, he’s been the one to start conversations and badger Malfoy with questions, almost forcing him to speak. And Malfoy had been uncharacteristically quiet and soft-spoken which had bothered Harry a bit. He wanted to see the real Malfoy, the one who couldn’t shut up if his life depended on it and whose every word would be a biting remark.

At last, he seems to have gotten his wish. Malfoy has turned the tables on him and is currently looking at him like he’s ready to drag Harry outside, kicking and screaming.

“I did but--”

Thankfully, he’s interrupted by the arrival of their food. The waitress smiles at him as she sets down the dishes of curry. It was Malfoy who had walked to the Indian place down the street from their usual restaurant and silently walked in without checking if Harry was following.

He’s had Indian before but it’s usually take-out and that too just the same thing every time because he’d rather not get stuck with something too spicy or something he has no clue about. And that’s why he’s looking at the feast-like spread in front of him with wide eyes, not sure what is what or how to even start while the waitress sets down yet another dish.

Malfoy is busy cutting up something that looks like chicken into neat little pieces with his knife and fork, he doesn’t look one bit confused.

After setting down the last dish, the waitress smiles at Harry. He thinks she’s awfully nice, but she hasn’t looked at Malfoy even once. Could it be that she knows about his past? She could be a--

“Is the chicken tough enough, Draco?”

“Yes, this is perfect. Thanks, Priya.”

“Oh you’re most welcome, the rice should be out in a second.”

He nods at her and she skips away like an excited child, Harry’s watching the whole scene with even more confusion. Malfoy must feel Harry’s eyes on him but the git is busy pouring curry into a bowl and mixing a green paste-y looking thing into it.

“You’ve been here before?”

“No, everyone in England knows how I like my chicken.”

“Oh shove it, Malfoy! She called you Draco.”

“She did.”

“So, you’re a regular, then?”

“Mr. Patel personally knows how spicy I like my food. He’s the owner and the chef.”

“And does he know that you’re a wizard? Or that you’re a Malfoy? Or that you flirt with his daughter?”

“Yes. Yes. And you will know when I flirt.”

Ignoring the sudden frisson Harry can feel in his chest, he adamantly sits there without touching his food. Not that he knows how to go about tasting everything on the table.

“Fine. Yes, I’m a regular here. I quite enjoy Indian food. I learned that when Parvati from school got a package in the mail back in third year or so. I wrestled it away from the owl because I liked how it smelled and I was angry at her for something. Anyway, she somehow knew that I’d stolen her package and she confronted me about it. It was a seasonal food item her mother had sent but I’d already eaten it by then. She stormed off muttering about spoiled brats. And I realized that I quite liked Indian food.”

“You stole food that her _mum_ had sent her?”

“I was angry.”

“Again, _you stole food that her mum had sent her_?”

“Oh, untwist your knickers, Potter, we resolved it. She even told me about this place, Mr. Patel is her uncle.”

“I just can’t see her forgiving you, and I really don’t think you apologized.”

“I didn’t, I had something she wanted and she had something I did. We did a trade and she threw in the name of this place as a bonus.”

“Parvati Patel traded with you?”

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, Potter. Most of us have moved on from the war and the Gryffindor-Slytherin divide before it.”

He recognizes the sharp edge to Malfoy’s words, the implication is not at all subtle.

“Okay.”

Malfoy returns to his plate, it’s perfectly set with little portions of everything, the vibrant colours and the heavenly smell makes his mouth water, if only he knew how to go about setting his own plate.

“I order Indian sometimes but it’s always rice and curry. In a take-away box.”

“You do know that anything could mean curry, it only needs to be liquid.”

“I do but the little shop I order it from knows I don’t know much so she just sends whatever’s on the menu.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Not everyone has chefs personally catering to their taste.”

“You don’t even know your own taste.”

“Whatever, just--can I put that orange curry on the--”

“It’s not orange curry, it’s Shahi Paneer.”

“Okay, and what’s that green paste thing you put in your curry?”

“You’re putting Goyle to shame here.”

“I'm sure I can mix it all together--”

“Give it here, you imbecile.”

With what can only be practiced precision, Malfoy puts food on Harry’s plate without a single drop falling or mixing with anything else. He’s adjusting the bread away from the red curry (inside his head, he winces, because everything is curry to him but Malfoy would probably chop his head off if he said it aloud), when the girl from earlier comes over with an order of rice.

She stands to the side watching Malfoy filling up Harry’s plate with a smirk on her face. Harry wonders if he really read the whole flirting thing wrong or if Malfoy doesn’t know that he’s inadvertently flirting with this girl.

“Is this a special friend then, Draco?”

“No.”

She snickers behind her hand and disappears without another word. Malfoy sets the plate down in front of Harry and goes back to his own.

“What did she mean, special friend?”

“Just eat your food, Potter.”

“It’s Harry.”

He doesn’t get an answer.

***


	6. What is this warmth settling around us?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love watching these two bickering like a married couple, and I hope you do too because that's what's coming. Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians. Since it's a long weekend, another chapter shall be coming in a few days!
> 
> PS - The phrase 'His Noselessness' is the brain child of 'dicta_contrion', I read it in the fic 'Make Me a Headline (I Want to Be That Bold)' and didn't stop laughing for ten minutes straight at which point it was just noiseless heaving and rocking back and forth. I just absolutely love that phrase, thanks, dicta_contrion!
> 
> PPS - If you haven't read Make Me a Headline (I Want to Be That Bold): doshnonour on you, dishonour on your cow! I'm kidding, go read it now.

Auror Montague lives in a red brick house with a Ministry flag waving high in the air from where it’s tied up on the roof. She’s a twenty-something with a wide smile and nervously shifting eyes, she looks at Harry with alert eyes with the door half closed behind her.

“You’re Harry Potter.”

He’s sure he hears Malfoy mutter a _For Salazar’s sake_ behind him but he ignores it in favour of offering their host a smile.

“I am, nice to meet you.”

She takes his offered hand with a shy smile, “I’m Elizabeth Montague. Minister Shacklebolt failed to mention that the auror in charge of the case is Harry Potter.”

“Wait till you see who he’s partnered with.”

She and Harry both turn at the same time as Malfoy’s bored voice interrupts their conversation. And the git is standing there with with his arms crossed over his chest looking like he’d rather be duelling with the Dark Lord than standing here for this conversation.

Luckily, Auror Montague is not subject to inner monologues like Harry apparently is, otherwise they’d all be standing here on the front stoop of her house having conversations inside their heads, looking like idiots to anyone passing by.

“Draco Malfoy?”

“That’s me. Now, can we take this inside? We have a few questions for you.”

She nods like she’s in a daze before turning around and opening the door for them to follow her. Harry has half a mind to pull Malfoy’s sleeve and quietly demand why he has to be so rude to someone who’s lost a partner in the line of duty and is probably struggling. But he decides against it and follows the git inside.

Before Harry can offer his condolences though, Malfoy is firing questions at the woman who is still looking between them with sheepish eyes.

“Auror Nettles, who worked the case immediately after you, mentioned an ‘unnervingly sweet smell’ at the scene the wizard was seen at. Did you, perhaps, notice the same smell or some other particular smell?”

“Uh, I don’t recall any particular smell.”

It’s quite strange watching Malfoy transform from the bookworm he’s been for a week into a trained auror, expert at asking questions without a second’s hesitation. He looks like he’s in control unlike the last few days when Harry was almost worried that Malfoy was going to faint if he didn’t go home to wherever he lives.

_Wait, is Malfoy still living at the Manor? He had looked so unsettled when Harry mentioned it the other day, surely he won’t be living there if it bothered him this much. But where else would he live?_

He shakes himself out of yet another monologue. Wow, his propensity for having inner monologues has definitely increased since he’s moved back. _Maybe he should see a healer, just so he won’t miss something important while he was having a conversation with himself_ \--dammit. He stands up to walk around the room while Malfoy continues his interrogation. He doesn’t look like he needs Harry’s help in asking questions.

“Anything else you’d say was peculiar?”

“I’m not sure what--”

“Something that made you stop for a second, or maybe something that’s stood out in dreams you may have had about the case.”

“Malfoy!”

Harry can’t believe Malfoy would ask someone who may be in shock if they have dreams about the traumatic experience they had.

“There is something.”

Oh well. Malfoy and Elizabeth both ignore him and continue their conversation as if he hasn’t said anything. And the determined expression on Elizabeth’s face suggests that she respects Malfoy as an auror and is helping him despite her discomfort because she knows what it’s like being on the other side of the fence.

“Go on.”

“I have been having dreams about the last time we chased him down, the time that--well. For some reason, I always see a silhouette with a walking cane but sometimes it looks very frail. I mean, physically. The walking stick aside, I remember the person to be walking very peculiarly. Almost like an old person would walk, with great difficulty. But then I also remember once when the figure wasn’t carrying a stick at all. In fact, we almost missed him once as he wasn’t using a walking stick at all.”

“So you mention a peculiar way of walking. Was he leaning heavily on the stick or slouching, perhaps?”

“No, it was more like someone who can’t balance themselves because they’re weak and therefore walk in a peculiar way.”

“Okay, that’s good. Anything else?”

“I found it very strange that he always knew we were around. I mean, even when we were just observing from a distance with a disillusionment charm no less, he still knew we were there. That’s why he could hit my partner, otherwise he shouldn’t even have known that we were there.”

“Did you cast a disillusionment charm that time too?”

“Yes, I did. And Thomas cast a notice-me-not.”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, thank you. That was quite helpful.”

“Was it?”

“Yes, of course. We have to get back now, but don’t hesitate to write us if you remember anything else.”

“I will.”

“My sincerest condolences about your partner. I hope you can return to work soon.”

“Thank you, Auror Malfoy. And uh, about earlier--”

“It’s quite alright.”

“I’m certain that you will crack this case.”

A flash of the old Malfoy pride crosses his sharp features for a fraction of a second before his partner schools it back into the professional facade he’s gotten so good at. He does, however, offer her a smile. A smile that’s quite different from the cruel sneer he’d always bestow upon people during Hogwarts. Honestly, Harry never once saw Malfoy smile in those seven years.

And now that he does see it once or twice, it always catches him off guard. Those thin lips have always stretched in a sneer and now they they part in a soft smile, Harry forgets to move when it happens.

“Thank you for your hospitality. We’ll be in touch.”

Harry offers his condolences and has to run to catch up to Malfoy who’s already stepped out the door. He doesn’t wait for Harry and apparates right in front of him.

***

“Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Are you telling me you’re too incompetent to apparate to the Ministry?”

“No, I’m asking you why you couldn’t have waited or side-alonged.”

Malfoy snorts at his suggestion as if Harry has suggested that they be best mates. Okay, he needs to slow down with this obsessive need to be mates with Malfoy.

“I wouldn’t side-along with you under any conditions, Potter.”

“Why not?”

“Let’s just go tell Shacklebolt what we’ve found.”

“Wait for me, you pointy git!”

Malfoy is once again halfway down the corridor by the time Harry gets out of his chair and is following him.

“What is with you and leaving rooms at a lightening speed?”

“Perhaps you should be exercising if you think I walk at a lightening speed.”

“You’ve got those long, spidery legs!”

“Excuse me? Did you just call my legs ‘spidery’?”

They’re stopped in the middle of a corridor arguing about Malfoy’s legs as gossipy looking witches and wizards walk by them, pretending to not hear what they’re saying. Harry pulls at Draco’s sleeve to get him to start walking, lest this argument become tomorrow’s headline in the _Daily Prophet_.

“I didn’t know any other expression for long legs.”

The git looks up toward the ceiling like he’s got a direct connection to Merlin himself, “Why am I being punished like this?”

“Oh, and you know dozens of expressions for long legs?”

“Just--be silent.”

“Git.”

***  
Draco is so close to hitting the Golden Boy over the head with the nearest heavy object he can find. _So close._

Shacklebolt is apparently in a meeting with someone so they’re waiting outside his office and Potter will not stop asking him questions that Draco has no answers to.

Cue, “So why are you so against apparating side-along with me?”

“Why do we need to? We’re both perfectly capable of apparating on our own.”

“Okay, but what if I’m injured in the field and can’t apparate? Would you leave me bleeding on the floor rather than--”

“If you don’t stop talking I will hex you and leave you here. And don’t worry, there are plenty of people around who will die for a chance to apparate the Chosen One to St. Mungo’s.”

Potter scowls at him but at least he shuts up.

Three minutes pass in silence and by extension, absolute bliss.

Then, “What about if you’re injured and unconscious--”

“Then leave me for dead.”

“So you’d rather die than--”

Draco’s hand goes to his wand without his express permission and he’s not sure what his next words will be--thankfully, the door opens and Shacklebolt comes out with a smile playing on his lips. Draco wonders if the Minister was standing inside his office and eavesdropping, revelling in Draco’s misery, perhaps.

“Gentlemen, follow me.”

Draco relays everything he’s gathered from Auror Montague while Potter sits next to him, silent at last. Draco’s got a creeping suspicion that Potter wasn’t paying attention during their interrogation and has missed several key points. And even if he was alert, Potter is thick-headed enough to have missed important things.

“So, you think he’s capable of magical tracking?”

Potter is looking confused, the fool probably didn’t know that magical tracking is possible.

“I do, and I think he’s particularly good at it.”

“Particularly good as in, he can tell _who_ is performing the magic?”

“I believe so. Auror Montague mentioned that when her partner was killed, they had both cast disillusionment charms and _notice-me-not_ s which several shops on Diagon Alley perform too. So, for our suspect to have attacked Auror Waters, he must’ve know who Waters was.”

“That’s a good point, Mr. Malfoy. But there’s a small problem with that theory. There is seldom a witch or a wizard powerful enough to not only track magic but also trace it.”

“That’s where another observation Auror Montague made comes in.”

“Which is?”

“She mentioned the suspect to be walking with a cane, a peculiar walk like ‘an old person who can’t keep their balance’, to quote her. Then, she mentioned that she once noticed the suspect without the cane and walking quite normally. I noticed the same thing in Auror Nettles’ reports: there is a discrepancy in how our suspect walks.”

“And what do you think is the reason?”

“I think it could either be that our suspects is a werewolf and hence his movements are dependent on the phase of the moon. For instance, immediately after a full moon, a person might require a walking stick as their body is recovering from a night of strenuous activity.”

“Or?”

“Or they could be using a dark potion, something like a _regeneration potion_ to sustain a body that is not yet strong enough to function on its own.”

The look of horror on the Minister’s face reflects the horror Draco is feeling himself, hidden under the mask of indifference. After all, the last wizard who used a regeneration potion almost killed them all.

“Or it could just be a very old wizard using the _Elixir of Life_ to keep himself alive. Explains the Unicorn blood.”

They both turn around to stare at Harry who has finally spoken. Draco feels a little better thinking that maybe another dark lord is not coming for them, after all.

“That could explain the leaning or walking like a weak person, but how can he have the strength to walk normally all of a sudden?”

“Maybe it’s two people?”

“I’m sure the aurors would’ve noticed if it was two different people.”

“Alright, you two need to go back to the reports and look at them again to see if one of these theories make sense or if you can come up with something else.”

“But we’re supposed to go into the field--”

“Not until I say so and I’m not saying so yet.”

“So, you want us back in that dingy office again?”

Shacklebolt looks surprised by Potter’s very spirited question, almost like he had expected them to love being trapped inside an office.

“I didn’t realize your office was dingy.”

“There’s only one window and Potter sits by it like a prisoner of war yearning for his freedom.”

“Malfoy!”

“What? Don’t you?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Gentlemen! I will arrange for a different office space for you, then.”

“Oh, well you don’t hav--”

“You may return to the ‘dingy office’ for now.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“Dismissed.”

Draco can clearly see the shadow of amusement on Shacklebolt’s face, he’s obviously taking the piss, as they say, but Potter is thick enough to think he has offended his precious friend Kingsley and slinks out of the office like a berated dog.

Ten minutes later, Potter is still sulking and Draco can only take so much of his pained sighs and stupid doe eyes.

“He’s not mad at you, he was just taking the piss.”

Potter turns to him with wide eyes and Draco just wants to roll his own at the ‘blushing maiden’ act the Golden Boy has going on.

“You think?”

“I know. He was pretty much laughing at the way your face shrunk.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Merlin, you are so unobservant. Neville once told me several publishers approached you to write a book about the war and that gave me nightmares. You’d be the most unreliable narrator in the world.”

Potter just keeps staring at him with his stupid eyes, he’s a picture of innocence if Draco’s ever seen one. He’s putting a house elf to shame.

“Will you stop? I’ll bet a thousand galleons Shacklebolt was just having a bit of fun.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Harry!”

He only realizes what he’s said after Potter’s eyes widen even more. Draco’s almost expecting them to pop out of his skull and roll around the floor any second.

He sighs and returns to the endless reading he’s stuck doing thanks to some old twat who couldn’t have stayed dead.

Potter doesn’t say anything either, thankfully.

At some point, Draco sees movement from the corner of his eye. It’s Potter slowly making his way across the room, the idiot probably thinks Draco wouldn’t notice as his head has been buried in potions books. Which may have been true if it wasn’t Harry Potter doing the “sly” walking. Harry Potter, who trips over anything one can possibly trip over.

Finally, Potter’s makes his way to Draco’s desk and is currently leaning over his shoulder trying to see what Draco is reading.

“Potter?”

The fool jerks back in surprise and Draco takes a moment to thank the gods that he hasn’t been assigned to a stake-out mission with the clumsiest person alive.

“Yes?”

“Why are you reading over my shoulder?”

“I was just checking what you were doing.”

“And you couldn’t have asked me this, why?”

“I’m not sure you’d have told me. After all, you’d rather die than side-along with me.”

“You sound like a jealous girlfriend.”

“I sound like a person whose partner is acting very suspiciously.”

“Suspiciously? Why, because I refuse to be a part of your stupid--”

“It’s not stupid, it’s practical--”

It somehow escalates into a screaming match that only breaks when Draco notices an elderly witch watching them from the doorway of their office. He almost yelps in surprise but of course Potter doesn’t spot her even though he’s been the one facing the door this whole time.

“--being able to trust one’s partner, which I know is very tricky in our case but we--”

“We have company.”

“What?”

Finally, the fool spots the _whole entire person_ standing in the room with them.

“I’m with the Strategic Planning and Allotment department, Minister Shacklebolt assigned me to find a new office for you.”

“Oh.”

“I have found a new space on the fifth floor. I was going to show you but I can come back if you’d like to finish--”

“No, that’s alright. We’ll just pack up here and be right with you.”

And that’s how they end up working around each other, insults and arguments still hanging heavy in the air as an elderly witch watches as if waiting for them to start a fight any second. At least, Potter has the courtesy to look reproachful.

***

Hermione asks Harry if she can whisk Malfoy away from their case for a few hours. When he asks what for, she’s vague about it but does tell him it’s about a new legal matter that’s crossed her desk.

He promises to relay her message to his new partner but his suspicions about his partner lead him to Hermione’s office. Well, Harry apparates there and Draco says he’ll follow, still refusing to side-along.

So, Harry’s looking around her office. She’s got more books in here than the library down the street from Harry’s cottage in France. Hermione smiles proudly when he tells her this.

He’s in the middle of inspecting a book on endangered species and their protection, when the door opens revealing Draco standing there in all his glory. His robes flutter behind him, like a certain potions master they know, as he steps over the threshold, all long legs and stiff posture.

When Harry turns away from the door, he finds Hermione’s eyes trained on himself with raised eyebrows as if he’s supposed to know what she’s trying to tell him just with her eyebrows. At least Draco’s got his back to her and doesn’t notice whatever it is she’s doing. Harry feels a bit nervous all of a sudden and he’s not sure why.

She and Draco have a tense discussion about some potions ingredient or another while Harry sits at the very comfortable leather sofa across the room from them and writes to his house-keeper in France, telling her he doesn’t know long he’ll stay in England yet.

The second they are alone, Hermione whirls around with a smug expression on her face.

“You’re attracted to Draco.”

That accusation is so ludicrous that Harry doesn’t even know how to respond to it, Hermione doesn’t seem to be awaiting a response which is so unfamiliar because usually she’d be looking at Harry like just her eyes could wrench an answer out of him. It is very unsettling because if she’s not expecting an answer then she doesn’t think she needs one to be sure of her conviction.

“No, I’m not. Why would--why would you think that? I’m not.”

“Then what was all that posturing you did when he walked into the room?”

“Erm, what?”

“Oh come on, Harry. You were pacing about mumbling something about Ron and reading over book covers and the second Draco opened the door, you were leaning on that sofa in a classic macho move as if you were posing for the cover of _Witch Weekly_.”

“I was just standing by the sofa.”

“You instinctively moved closer to the sofa and leaned on it, and by leaned I mean one hand on your hip and the other on the back of the sofa with your legs crossed at the ankles and the perfect picture of nonchalance, making you look like a model. That was definitely posturing.”

“I think you’ve seen too many muggle films.”

The next time she brings it up it’s not so convenient. Draco is sitting across from Hermione and him at an outdoor cafe Neville had recommended they come to. The sun is exceptionally bright and Harry’s glad to have agreed to come here. That is, until--

“Did you know that peacocks strut around with their plumage on display to woo potential mates?”

Harry’s tea makes a valiant effort of escaping through his nose but he catches himself before he chokes. Hermione has a wicked glint in her eye which if Harry had seen before, he’d have refused to come along.

“Draco, you’re familiar with peacocks. Did you know that?”

“We had peacocks at the Manor but I wasn’t particularly invested in their mating rituals, no.”

“It’s actually where the term ‘ _peacocking_ ’ comes from. When someone poses to accentuate their best features so as to capture the attention of someone they fancy as a sexual partn--”

“Hermione, a word?”

Harry doesn’t even check to see if Draco’s noticed anything out of the ordinary because getting his best mate to shut up is the priority right now.

Later though, he corners Hermione and demands to know just what she’s playing at. She takes a long look at him, the kind with the titled head like she’s remembering something and trying to come up with a theory she can prove. Harry really doesn’t trust when that look is directed at him, he’s--

“It’s a very delicate situation, Harry. He’s your partner now and he’s Draco Malfoy and--”

“Hermione, will you stop? I don’t fancy Draco, okay?”

She looks wholly unconvinced as she gets out of her chair and leans out the door to ask her secretary to send in tea for the two of them. Harry expertly ignores her even when he can feel her watching.

It’s not often but it does happen sometimes that Hermione Jean Granger is wrong about something.

***

Their new office is a big improvement, at least Harry doesn’t feel the inexplicable urge to sit next to the window and yearn for freedom, like Malfoy had told Kingsley.

It actually makes a huge difference to their work as well. They are no longer confined to their own corners and working away separately.

Now, they’re working with each other and discussing theories and also hurling insults at each other but Harry no longer feels like he’s working alone with a stranger sharing the room.

“So you really think it could be someone using a _regeneration potion_?”

“As much as I’d like to say no, I also know that I have the worst luck of anyone so I’m going to not offer an opinion on this.”

“You’ve got the worst luck? How do you figure that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because His Noselessness decided to stay in my home for a full year where he tortured and killed people an--why are you laughing?”

“You just--oh Merlin!”

He just sits there patiently waiting for Potter to finish thrashing about like a drowning hippogriff.

“You said ‘His Noselessness’.”

That’s funny, Draco will concede. It’s not something he’s thought of before, it just came out. It is quite good, though, maybe he should write it down.

Harry is now sitting on the floor just silently shaking, Draco would be worried he’s having some kind of a stroke if Draco couldn't see what's actually happening right in front of his eyes: his shoulders are trembling and he looks close to crying but it's out of happiness.

_Yes_ , Draco thinks, _I’m quite good at this. I’m very funny, maybe I should consider being a jester._

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Yes well, my point is that the gods do take a particular pleasure in ruining my life.”

“You? What about me?”

“Oh yes, poor you. The Boy Who Lived and the Saviour of the Wizarding world, what tough luck.”

“I have been through quite some crap in my time, I’ll have you know. You, for one, made my life a living hell for years.”

“Yes, the pranks I played as an eleven-year old totally ruined your life, I’m sure. However will you recover from the trauma?”

“Wow, you must think I’ve been on _Felix Felicis_ my whole life then.”

“No, you’re boneheaded most of the time but not that boneheaded.”

“You what?”

“I’ve seen you high on _Felix Felicis_ , and while you do come off as a drug addict most days, it’s usually not quite that intense.”

Choosing to ignore the three-fold insult, Harry addresses the obvious lie in that statement, “No, you haven’t.”

“Yes, I have. Making ridiculous hand gestures about spiders’ pincers.”

That single raised eyebrow makes Harry look away from Malfoy in shame. God, the prick knows how to make Harry feel so embarrassed he’s ready to jump out a window and break his neck just to get away from that stupid fucking eyebrow.

“Whatever.”

“Brilliant argument, as always.”

Harry feels a sudden wave of warmth rise in him. Familiarity, that’s what this feels like. They’re bickering and bantering like mates do and Harry quite likes it, just like he’d suspected.

When they leave the new office that night, it’s very different from how they’d started the day. Not only have they made progress with the case but Harry’s sure that they’ve finally reached a point in knowing each other where they’ll be almost comfortable working together, the arguments and insults notwithstanding.

“Night, Draco.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need reassurance that people are reading this. I'm quite like Draco in that way, I need constant attention and someone whispering praises almost incessantly. It's such a burden, but we deal with it, us poor souls..


	7. These things I keep buried, damn you for unearthing them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, brace yourself! Draco's layers finally start to get unraveled. In addition to how and why he changed so much after the war, there's also finally a glimpse into how he feels about Harry.
> 
> PS - Let the pining begin!

The case doesn’t get any easier now that they’re actually working together and not just reading files all day in silence. Any notions Harry had held about solving this case within two weeks and returning to his life in France have been proven wrong.

“Will you, for once, stop fantasizing about your legions of fans and listen when I talk?”

And he and Malfoy have finally gotten over the awkward attempts at being somewhat civil while also struggling to not talk to each other like schoolboy enemies. Now, they’ve crossed over to the completely unknown territory of _not quite mates but almost there_.

“I was not fantasizing about anything.”

“Do you usually stare at ceilings and get a goofy look on your face, then? Actually no, don’t answer that.”

“For your information, I was thinking about the case.”

“Oh, you’re so full of it.”

“Really, Draco? This early in the mornin--”

They’re interrupted by a knock and a bored looking woman standing in the doorway with a truly magnificent bouquet of colourful flowers; there is a blue one that really stands out and Harry wants to touch it.

“Delivery for a Draco Malfoy.”

Harry catches Draco angrily getting out of his chair away and walking towards the lady with an outstretched arm. She hands the bouquet to him with a weary expression.

“Thank you.”

Harry’s expecting Draco to be happy about getting flowers, which _who would send him such a beautiful bouquet? Not that Draco doesn’t deserve it, he’s surely beautiful enough to_ \---okay, wrong path.

Harry waits for Draco to break the suddenly awkward silence but all he does is go to his desk and set the flowers in a corner like a rejection. More than anything, he looks annoyed.

“Who’re they from?”, Harry asks quietly.

His curiosity gets the best of him plus he’d have thought that Draco would be over the moon at such a gesture, which is a good idea for the future---no.

“Some idiot.”

Draco’s being intentionally vague, Harry thinks. Which makes him a bit irritated, why is anyone sending Draco flowers at the office? And why such a huge bouquet, is it some sort of a show? Who is this person?

“Anyone I know?”

Draco looks up from the _Prophet,_ absolutely done with Harry’s questions. Well guess what, Harry is not giving up till he knows who is sending Draco flowers like a declaration of love or something.

“No.”

Draco’s expression makes it very clear that he’s not in the mood to have a conversation about this so Harry drops it.

It isn’t until that night when he’s almost asleep that he remembers the flowers and something inside him feels like it's burning, a flickering flame steadily burning through some part of him. It’s then that he realizes that all those time he’s thought how beautiful Draco is or how good he looks in his robes, mean only one thing - he is attracted to his partner.

 _Merlin_.

***  
The next morning Draco is a bit late by his own standards but only because Abraxas had taken it upon himself to shred the sofa to bits at some point in the night. He’s spent the morning pointing and yelling at his cat while the hairy bastard had just laid there and narrowed his eyes at Draco like he was going to be next.

When he steps through the office door, he finds Harry already in the room which is the first time he has shown up before Draco. And that should’ve been his first clue as to what kind of a day this was going to be.

“Morning, Draco. Looks like you’re late today.” There's a hint of smugness in Potter's voice which only makes this sting more.

“Well, there’s still a minute to nine so technically I’m not.”

“Whoa, what happened to you?”

“Do you have a few days?”

“No, I mean your robes are all torn in the back.”

He rips off his robes to find strings of cloth hanging limply in his fingers.

“That bastard!”

“Who?”

“Nothing, I need to go home very quickly. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

When he stumbles out of the floo at home, the bastard is sitting on top of the newly mended sofa looking like a smug twat.

“I’ll deal with you later,", he growls at Abraxas before rushing into his bedroom to change.

In less than ten minutes, he’s back at the office in new robes and anger bubbling very close to the surface. And it comes pouring out when Harry brings up the stupid bouquet again. _Why can’t the nosy berk stay out of this stupid business?_

“This card says, ‘ _When I said Accio beautiful, I didn’t think it would actually work._ ’ It’s clearly from someone who fancies you.”

_Oh Salazar, has he really written that on the card?_

Rather than hurt his head over that lost cause, Draco turns to the idiot in the room and finds Potter looking at him like an auror waiting for a witness to answer.

“And how is this any of your business?”

“I’m your partner, I should know if someone’s bothering you or harassing you.”

“It’s not a bother.”

“So, you do know who sent this.”

“I do and it’s just a stupid prank. Can we forget about this?”

Harry nods and goes back to his desk but he’s still got the card in his hand. And Draco wants to tell him, for some reason. He hasn’t told anyone about this, not even Pansy, but he’s feeling an inexplicable urge to tell Harry.

_That way lies madness._

***  
On his way to the office the next morning, Harry hears someone calling his name. He abruptly turns around and proceeds to run into an angry looking older wizard because he’s always been well-balanced and smooth like that.

“Cho?”

The girl in question offers him a dimpled smile that was the source of many an embarrassing bumbling and stuttering experiences in his adolescence. She’s still as beautiful as ever, he finds.

“Harry, I thought that was you.”

“Yeah, I uh--I’m helping Kingsley with something.”

“Oh, well, I work for the Auror Department.”

“Wow, really? I always thought you’d go into professional quidditch.”

She laughs softly behind her hand and he’s hit with sudden nostalgia at the sight. Merlin, how many dinners he’d spent staring at her across the Great Hall and then stuttering his way through explanations when he’d gotten caught staring by Hermione.

“I tried it but my parents thought I should have a normal office job.”

“So you became an Auror?”

They both laugh at her attempt to pacify her parents and accepting one of the most dangerous jobs in the world.

“Yeah, they didn’t see the humour in it.”

“I’m sure they didn’t.”

A pulse of awkward silence stretches out as they both stand there trying to gauge just how familiar they really are and what are safe conversation topics. If this isn’t a hint about their failed attempt at a relationship, Harry doesn’t know what is.

Thankfully, she’s a little better at socializing than he is.

“So, are you back for good, then?”

“Uh--no, no. Just for this one case.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I should get to work but I’d like to see you before you go. Maybe get dinner sometime?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah, Yes, let’s do that.”

She starts walking backwards. “Sorry, I really must get going. But I’ll see you around, Harry!”

“Yeah, see you, Cho!”

He can’t help but smile to himself while he’s standing in the lift, remembering a time when he was convinced that Cho Chang was his soulmate. Gods, it seems like a lifetime ago.

***

“Did you know Cho Chang works here at the Ministry? I just ran into her in the Atrium, it was proper weird. I kept thinking about how I asked her to the Yule Ball fourth year and she turned me down.”

“How riveting.”

“What? That’s not exciting enough for you?”

The git doesn’t even look up from whatever book he’s reading today.

“While I love hearing about office gossip and absolutely adore hearing about your romantic exploits, I’ll hav--”

“It’s not a romantic exploit.”

“Nonetheless, I may have found something from the case files while you were chatting up the staff.” He's beside Harry in a second, pushing the file right in his face.

“I wasn’t--”

“See this, here? Both Auror Montague and Auror Nettles said something about the wizard limping and I think it might be worth it to check if there has, in fact, been a recent death of a known dark wizard.” Draco's walking out of the office before Harry's even had a chance to nod.

They bring it to Kingsley but they all know it’s too thin to actually spend long, tiring hours labouring over death records. And then they’re back to the beginning.

***

It’s been days and Harry still can’t get the card out of his mind. He’d asked Draco and gotten a stupid blow-off answer. He’d had half a mind to track down the woman who had brought the flowers to Draco and ask her who sent them but even he knows that’s a line he won’t be able to uncross.

Trouble is, he’s not sure he hasn’t already crossed a line.

Technically, he has been attracted to his partners before but he hadn’t known them since he was eleven or had several near-death experiences with them. Neither had he felt jealous of someone else going out with said partners.

He’s accepted that _jealousy_ is what he feels after staring at that card for hours and wanting to rip it to shreds.

With a start, he realizes that he doesn’t even know if Draco is in a relationship. Something he’d never bothered to ask before he spent days unconsciously denying what he felt and then days afterward stewing in it.

“That bouquet you got, where is it?” Draco looks at him like Harry's just asked to see his pants.

“What?”

“I’m just thinking--”

“Why start after all these years?”

Ignoring that brilliant jab, Harry focuses on the important things he should know about his partner. “Are you seeing someone?”

“Again, how is this any of your business?”

“I’m just asking.”

“No, I am not. It was just a stupid prank by a friend.”

As if proving Draco absolutely right about the worst luck argument last week, there comes a knock on the door and the woman from before is standing there with a box in her hands.

“Delivery for Mr. Draco Malfoy.”

Harry looks at Draco and their eyes meet, in less than a second they both lunge toward the door to get to the package first. The woman’s eyes widen in surprise and she yelps as Harry manages to beat Draco and snatches the box from her hands.

“Thank you.”

“Give it here, Potter, you bloody idiot!”

“No, let me read this!”

“I’m going to hex you silly once I--”

“It says, ‘ _My Dearest Draco, I needn’t bother with the mirror of Erised to realize that you’re all that I fancy._ ’ What?”

“Give it here, Potter!”

After a bit of a struggle, Draco has managed to get the box and the card away from Harry. He is currently shoving both those things in a drawer in his desk and glaring at Harry while doing so.

“Erm, uh--”

“Shut it.”

“Well, that was--erm, something.”

“It’s a stupid prank, Potter. Just leave it alone!”

“You have a friend you sends you flowers and gifts with silly lines as a prank?”

“Yes, I do. Anything else you need to know about my _private life_?”

Draco has a murderous expression on his face which makes Harry step back despite himself. He isn't even sure what he’s doing until Malfoy's eyes widen and he catches Harry stepping back. Then, a slow smirk appears like he’s proud he has that effect on Harry.

He, himself, chooses to ignore this. And in a remarkable display of self-discipline, he returns to his work without mentioning anything else.

***

Draco isn’t sure how they’ve ended up here. More precisely, how he’s ended up here.

Harry had told him about meeting Cho Chang about a week ago and Draco remembers feeling like his stomach had dropped through his feet and right onto the ground. At the time, he had put on his carefully practiced mask of indifference and gone home to think about it.

Sitting in front of the fireplace later that night with Abraxas adamantly perched in his lap, Draco had come to the startling conclusion that the idea of Cho Chang and Harry running into each other made him jealous. Until that point, he had admitted to himself that Potter was quite handsome, that much was fact but the apparent romantic interest Draco had in the idiot was a shock.

Since then, he’s come a long way. Not only has he admitted to himself that yes, he is attracted to Potter but also that the obsession with all things Potter since they were eleven was the beginning of said attraction more likely than not.

Then, three days ago Potter had told him that Chang’d asked for his help on a case. Draco had been an adult about it and other than the customary level of snark, refrained from saying anything out of line. As much as it had made him uncomfortable and fidgety, it hadn’t surprised him.

Now, for almost a week, people in the Ministry have been talking about the star crossed love affair of Cho Chang and Harry Potter that started almost a decade ago at Hogwarts and was going to finally prosper into a relationship at the Ministry of Magic. Draco wasn’t blind; he could see the old gossips giggling in quiet corners or stage-whispering about Potter and Chang, like they weren’t here to work but to start rumours all day.

It annoyed Draco to no end to get into a lift only to find a group of gossips already inside murmuring about the budding office romance and how they were all trying to throw Potter and Chang together into situations that would somehow trigger a love confession or something.

What annoyed Draco even more was that when he finally got out of the lift and walked away from the conspiracy theories, he had to face Harry.

Harry, who never really mentioned what was going on at the office. In the end, Draco decided that either Harry didn’t know what people were saying or he wasn’t saying anything for Draco’s benefit. Neither of those were plausible so Draco was struggling with why Potter hardly ever brought up his long-lost love in front of his partner.

Another thing that was infuriating was how Potter wouldn’t acknowledge the articles that were published almost daily in the _Prophet_ about his reunion with his school sweetheart. Potter hadn’t once mentioned them, not even to say that they weren’t true and Draco was not going to think about how that was the part that made him seethe with rage.

It was quite challenging working alongside Potter when all of this was going on but it never came up during their work. Draco was almost on the verge of bringing it up himself, asking Potter something silly just so they’d start talking about it and he’d get to hear Potter’s thoughts. It felt like living in two different worlds: when he was at home or at work, stories about Potter’s whirlwind romance with Cho Chang were everywhere; and when he was with Harry, there wasn’t a single word about _Charry_ as the _Prophet_ had started referring to it.

There was a whole new level of frustration, Draco found, that he hadn’t yet reached in life. He was frustrated with himself because why did he care so much what Potter was doing in his personal time? Since when had he cared? And did this, by any chance, extend beyond just attraction and into more dangerous territories?

He was frustrated with Harry because why wouldn’t he just make a comment about how irritating it was to have everyone riding his back about this stupid story? Frustrated because why wouldn’t Harry even acknowledge something that was the biggest gossip in wizarding England right now? Frustrated because he had started wondering if Harry hadn’t said anything because he didn’t think he and Draco were close enough to discuss personal matters.

In the midst of all this frustration, Harry finally brought up Cho Chang.

***

“Oh, by the way, Cho’s asked me to take a look at the case she’s working on.”

“Oh, has she now?”

“Yes well, she said they were stuck so maybe a fresh pair of eyes would help.”

“Did she?”

“Why are you repeating everything I’m saying?”

“Am I?”

“You’re doing it right now!”

“Whatever, Potter.”

“'Potter'? Are we back to that now?”

“I don’t have time for this. I have a lunch appointment anyway.”

“An appointment? With--with who?”

“Whom.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s with whom, Potter. Not ‘who’.”

“Are you seriously correcting my language right now, Draco? Really?”

“When it’s used as a subject, it’s ‘who’. And when it’s used as a predicate, then it’s ‘whom’, like ‘he’ and ‘him’. It’s quite simple, actually.”

“Out of all the things I would’ve expected you to be, Malfoy, grammar police is not one.”

“Well, I strive to impress.”

“That you do.”

“Pardon?”

Oh bloody hell, he can’t even say something to himself without the git hearing it. Harry should just move to a faraway island so he won’t slowly lose his grip on sanity because of Draco sodding Malfoy.

“Oh, I was just asking with _whom_ are you going to lunch?”

Draco rolls his eyes at Harry’s emphasis, it gets a laugh out of Harry. It’s so rare that Draco will do something as improper as roll his eyes in front of someone. Oh, he probably does it every other minute, Harry is sure, but usually he does it with his back to company so no one can see him doing something so uncouth.

“It’s with a friend, you don’t know him.”

It unhinges something in Harry to hear Draco dismiss it so easily. He wants to ask what’s this friend’s name, hell he wants to go along to see this friend for himself but Harry’s sure Draco won’t entertain that idea for even a second so he wrestles with the insecurity that’s quietly curling up inside him.

“Alright well, I guess I better head over to Cho’s office then.”

Draco doesn’t acknowledge his statement in any way. With his back to Harry, he’s looking around for something on his desk and once he finds it, he turns around and starts for the door.

“I’ll see you after lunch, Potter.”

He leaves without a single glance back or waiting for Harry to respond. With a sigh, Harry accepts that this frustration will be a part of him now as long as he works around Draco Malfoy. Might as well start living with it.

***  
He‘s bitterly trying to sit through the meal as Pansy and her new boy toy engage in nauseously disgusting PDA across the table. Draco is now regretting ever fire-calling Pansy and asking if she’s free for lunch.

He’d much rather have sat here alone and seethed in peace about Harry Potter and his whirlwind romance with Cho Chang. Instead, he thought it would be a good idea to have company.

Pansy’s jailbait of a boyfriend giggles like a teenaged witch when she tries to feed him fruit and fails miserably.

“Would you like to invest in a bib, perhaps?”

Pansy looks up at him with a disgruntled look on her face as if Draco is the one feeding a teenager berries with his bare hands and attracting attention from the entire restaurant.

“And what’s got you so hot and bothered?”

“I’m not bothered.”

So, he may have answered a little too quickly and she may have caught on with lightening speed.

“Might this have anything to do with Potter and his childhood romance, perchance?”

“Don’t you have a child to feed?”

“Scathing, darling. It must be Potter, then.”

He doesn’t bother to answer her but the knowing looks she keeps shooting him throughout lunch have him on edge. He snaps at a wizard in the lifts when the balding man tries to ask him if Cho Chang ever visits his and Potter’s office.

There must be a metaphorical cloud of rage following him around because people in the corridor part like water in front of him. He can just picture Neville rolling his eyes and calling him a dramatic git but today it’s a good thing that they stay away from him.

Potter is sitting at his desk, no sign of Cho Chang anywhere.

“You’re back. How was lunch?”

Draco goes to hang up his robes, fingers almost trembling with the frustration and annoyance coursing through him.

“Fine.”

“Oh.”

Harry doesn’t ask him anything else and Draco doesn’t offer anything more. He’s more than content to sit there in silence and read, Pansy’s knowing looks be damned.

***  
Draco has been acting weird for two days now. Harry dare say it started that day he went to have lunch with his old mate. Which, he had refused to divulge any more details about that lunch so Harry’s not sure if he fought with his mate or what.

He himself had spent the lunch break helping Cho with her case, all the while ignoring nosy witches and wizards who kept interrupting them. Harry’s not blind and he knows what the papers are publishing about him and Cho but honestly, he doesn’t think there’s anything romantic there.

Cho hasn’t said anything about it either and Harry’s rather preoccupied with his partner to think about the gossips in the Ministry.

“So, you’re working with Draco Malfoy?”

He looks up from the evidence bag on the desk to find Cho standing beside him with a thoughtful look on her face.

“Erm, yeah.”

He’d really rather not have a repeat of the Weasley dinner. And so much has changed since then that he’s sure he won’t listen silently this time if there are insults about his partner.

“That must be quite surreal.”

He leans against the desk to face her, the only expression there is curiosity.

“It is, yeah. But we’ve been working together for a fair bit so I’ve gotten used to it by now.”

“He must’ve really changed since Hogwarts, then.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I just can’t see you defending _that_ Draco Malfoy.”

He flushes at looks down at his shoes, mumbling his next response, “I’m not defending him.”

Cho laughs at his antics and offers a quiet, “You were ready to, though.”

So he’s in a decent mood when he comes back from lunch only to find Draco still missing. And just like that, the decent mood goes down the drain when he an errant thought makes his feet stop.

_What if he’s seeing someone, that same someone who keeps sending him flowers? And now he’s gone to see the someone for lunch. And he hasn’t said anything to Harry because he doesn’t think of them as mates yet._

Draco’s dull response when he gets back from lunch and the waves of anger pouring off him make Harry sit back and not ask questions. And it continues like that the next day and the next. There are discussions, tense silences and a few more discussions.

Ron interrupts yet another heated discussion - he says discussion, it’s definitely an argument - when he arrives red-faced and sweating.

“Bloody hell, this room is so hard to find. It feels like I’ve been looking for days.”

“Ron, come here for a second. Draco thinks that _Elixir of Life_ is too simple an explanation for the weird walking thing of the wizard we’re chasing. What do you think?”

“I think it could be, I mean these criminals are usually not that smart of evil. I agree with you.”

"Oh, what a surprise.” Draco says in the flattest voice possible. Quite honestly, Harry is surprised that anyone could sound that done with everything.

“Well, what do you expect? A repeat of the Dark Lord storyline?”

“I hope not.”

It gets very quiet and awkward after that. Ron has never been good at defusing awkward situations and Harry’s more likely to make it worse so really it’s up to Draco to react.

“I could use a drink, anyone up for it?”

Ron’s eyes glaze over like he’s looking at Hermione rather than Draco, and Harry finds himself laughing.

“RIght, well I just need to change into something a bit more comfortable. I can meet you at the place.”

Harry sees his chance. If only, he can somehow get Ron to help him out.

“Ron, don’t you have to pop over to your flat first?”

Ronald Weasley has never been the sharpest person in the room so Harry’s not sure why he said what he did. Chances are it will fly right over Ron’s head and then Harry will be left explaining--

“Oh right, I have to bring a file to Hermione. How did you know, Harry?”

“Just a lucky guess.” The wink that Ron throws him is in no way subtle but thank Merlin that Draco doesn't outright ask Harry what that's about. 

“Right, well I’ll see you at the Leaky, then.”

He rushes out leaving Harry and Draco rooting around to collect their belongings. Harry’s not quite sure how to bring it up now that he’s gotten rid of Ron.

“You apparating directly to the pub, then?”, Draco looks ready to leave and Harry doesn't have much time if he wants this to work out. 

“Actually, I was wondering if I can come along with you?”

He just wants to know if Draco is living at the Manor or not, that’s all. _It’s important._

Draco narrows his eyes at him, he can feel a tug in his chest that he remembers from when Snape used to do a very similar face.

“Are you doing this to check if I have any Dark Lords hiding in my home?”

“No.”

“That's very convincing, Potter. Come along, then.”

Whatever he had thought about Draco’s home, it wasn’t this.

“You live in a flat?”

“As you can see, yes.”

“That’s a cat.”

“Brilliant observation skills, no wonder you’re an auror.”

“You have a cat.”

“Are you having a stroke?”

“No, I--you have a cat.”

“Yes, this is Abraxas.”

“You named it Abraxas?”

“Alright, I need you to stop doing that. I know you’re not this slow.”

“I’m just shocked that you live in a flat and you have a cat who you named after your grandfather.”

“While you process your shock, I’m going to change. Do make yourself at home.”

Draco disappears somewhere while Harry is busy staring at the white fur ball of a cat who’s staring right back at him. He feels his hackles rising as the epitome of feline elegance and poise keeps staring right at him, Harry feels challenged.

When Draco comes back out, he sees Harry approaching the cat and warns, “He’s not fond of people.”

But Abraxas rolls right over as Harry’s fingers wade through the fur.

Draco throws his hands up when he sees his bastard of a cat rolling over for the great Harry Potter, “Oh for Merlin’s sake!”

“What?”

“He claws me every morning if I try to touch him and here you are petting him like you’ve done it for years.”

“He doesn’t like you?”

“He doesn’t like anyone.”

“Looks like he likes me.”

“Well, feel free to take him home with you, then.”

When they get to the pub, Ron is not there yet. They get a table in the corner and order three pints, waiting for Ron. They’re halfway through arguing whether the Tutshill Tornadoes or the Montrose Magpies deserve to win this year’s Quidditch League, when the bartender calls out Harry’s name and hands him a note.

“Someone’s just owled this for you.”

“Oh, thanks.”

He gets back to Draco and informs him that Ron can’t make it tonight since Rose has gotten sick.

“Do you want to stay, then?”

“Actually, I know a place we can go unless you’d rather sit here.”

With no arguments whatsoever from Harry, they end up apparating to wherever Draco wants to go, finally allowing Harry to side-along with him.

While he lands and stumbles around for a customary after-apparition disorientation, Draco lands perfectly on his feet, the elegant bastard.

“Here we are.”

Harry looks around to find that they are at the edge of a lake, once his eyes adjust to the absolute darkness of the night except the glowing water from the reflection of the moon, he recognizes the place. How could he ever forget? They’re near the Great Lake.

“How did you--there’s an anti-apparition charm on Hogwarts.”

“I knew how to apparate here when I was fourteen years old.”

“But how--”

“Come on, I need to sit down. International apparition takes a lot of energy and magic.”

Harry has no choice but to follow Draco, he can’t very well stand here with his jaw dropping to the ground at not only the sheer beauty of the lake but also the realization that Draco has brought him here.

The git doesn’t stop walking till he’s led Harry to a spot down toward the edge of the water, where he sits down with the barrage of bottles strewn about his legs. Harry hesitates as warnings about the Giant Squid and his own experiences with Merpeople come to mind but Draco is a picture of calm serenity where he sits cross-legged.

“Scared, Potter?”

The age-old questions spurs him into action and he plops down beside Draco with a huffed, “You wish!”

Draco chuckles at his response, probably imagining a young Harry getting ready for his first duel. _Oh gods, the rush of memories this place brings back._

“Do you come here often?”

“When I want to be alone, yeah. It’s quite possibly the most beautiful place in the world, I think.”

“Really? Haven’t you traveled a lot? Yet this is the most beautiful place in the world?”

“For me, it is.”

“Why here?”

“This was where I was the happiest, also where I was the saddest but still. Getting on that boat the first year, I remember feeling so free and yet so caught up in what life was going to be like.”

“When I got on the boat, I didn’t even know what to expect. Hogwarts was just a weird name I’d heard from a lot of weird people that day.”

“You must have been overwhelmed, even more so than the rest of us.”

“Oh, I was. Just kept wondering that if magic was real then what else was too. Then, I saw the castle against the dark sky and every single thought disappeared.”

“It is breathtaking, that’s why I like this spot. You can see it from here, in the shadows.”

“Doesn’t this place remind you, though? Of, you know, regrets.”

“You have to forget first to be reminded. The one regret I have about this place is that we didn’t ever get to leave Hogwarts the last time on a boat.”

“Is that a tradition?”

“Yes, the seventh years leave the castle by boat for the last time. Our seventh year didn’t quite allow for that to happen. It’s something I would’ve liked but of course, none of us was in a state to be-- you know.”

“That’s a pity.”

“It is.”

Draco hands him a bottle of Firewhiskey and Harry gladly accepts it. He can almost feel his throat closing up, being here and with Draco Malfoy next to him, talking about a time when his life was not entirely overshadowed by Dark Lords and prophecies. Back when he was allowed to be a child sometimes.

“Thanks.”

Malfoy takes off his shoes and socks and stretches back on his folded arms, long legs splayed out in front of him with his bony feet almost touching the water. Harry steals his eyes away from the sight and takes a swig from the bottle.

Silence stretches out lazily around them, the moonlight making Harry feel more at ease than he has in quite a while. He’s tempted to take his own shoes off but he’s not sure if he chose washed socks this morning and he really doesn’t want to break the tranquility by having bad smelling feet and Draco complaining about it endlessly.

He takes another swig and chances a glance at his partner. It takes him by surprise how much Draco looks like his mother in that moment, the soft light of the moon sharpening his features beyond his usual pointiness. On anyone else, it would’ve looked silly but on Draco, it looks natural and elegant.

Everyone who’s ever seen Draco has compared him to his father, but in this instant, Harry thinks he rather looks like his mother: all quiet and fragile beauty.

“How’s your mother?”

Draco startles at Harry’s voice, probably lost in his own thoughts. He hesitates, long fingers wrapped around a bottle of Dragonstail Vodka as he looks at the lake without speaking. Harry’s wondering is he’s even heard the question when the man finally nods.

“She’s coping.”

“With your father--

“Yes. It’s quite hard for her to be separated from him. He is the only man she’s ever loved and now he’s been ripped away from her. She’s taken quite a hit, I’m afraid - emotionally and mentally.”

“Does she need healers or some other help?”

“She does but she won’t accept it.”

Once again, a roaring, gaping silence makes itself known. Harry has no idea what he can say and Draco looks like he’s deep in thought. With a sigh, Harry takes another sip from his bottle.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. It’ll probably get better with time.”

Draco doesn’t say anything in response, for a second Harry is worried he has said the wrong thing. He’s probably crossed a line somewhere--

"Remember that time Mother and I bumped into you at Diagon? After Father had been sent to Azkaban and you said something about her joining him there and--"

"I was just angry--"

"Let's not say things we don't mean, Potter. Anyway, I'm telling you this not because I want to unearth old wounds, I just--you were right. In that moment, I hated you because you said that to my mother. Hell, I'd probably have hit you just for looking at my mother that way but now, I get it. Not saying I like it, I just understand it.”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with this confession. Draco’s slip from their newfound given names dynamic to the old ‘Potter’ hasn’t escaped his notice, but he understands why Draco might’ve slipped up. These are old memories after all, from a time they hated each other with a vengeance.

Draco takes a loud gulp from his bottle and continues, “She said something about Sirius Black to you, I remember. He was her cousin, they were family but to her, he was a blood traitor and she didn't hesitate to mention his stay at Azkaban because you cut her deep by mentioning her husband. And I remember standing there thinking, ' _How stupid of Potter to go after Mother like that, doesn't he understand how strong and powerful she is?"_

She was angry, her husband was in prison and this little child was mocking her for it. She's come a long way since then, you know. I think the war changed her as much as it did all of us, she doesn't quote her purity of blood nearly as much as she used to. Distance from Father has done her some good, dare I say."

Again, he’s at a loss for words. This feels unreal, so dreamlike that Harry can’t help but feel a little exposed even though it’s Draco sharing his secrets.

Never in a lifetime would he have pictured himself sitting next to Draco Malfoy talking about Narcissa Malfoy’s lose grip on sanity, with the darkness of the Black Lake encircling them.

“Does she still live at the Manor?”

Draco snaps his head around to stare at Harry, “What _is_ your obsession with the Manor?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Why? Do you really care so much about the place where you almost died and your friends were tortured?”

“I don’t but it’s your home.”

“Not anymore. He made sure of that.”

“Voldemort?”

“No, Potter, Stan Shunpike. Of course, Voldemort!”

“You said his name.”

“Yes well, I’m over the whole ‘Baddest, Scariest wizard of all time’ bullshit.”

“He lived there, right?”

Draco nods vigorously, so unlike he usually does, a fringe of hair falls onto his face and Harry wants to brush it away so badly he almost misses Draco’s response.

“For a whole year, He and his loyal followers graced us with their presence. Auntie Bellatrix was the worst, she always said I was weak and that I needed toughening up. Naturally, that made me a great practice for her to polish her torturing skills. And that fucking snake! Did you know I’m scared of snakes?”

“Are you, really? But you’re in Slytherin.”

“You think every Gryffindor wants to keep a lion as a pet?”

“No, but you never said anything.”

“Do you think I would’ve told you of all people of an irrational fear I have?”

“Fair point. So, was it after he brought his--pet or before?”

“Oh ages before that, I’m not sure why and Mother says there was never any incident in my childhood that could justify it so I never knew what to do with it. Then, that slit-nosed twat moved in with that _thing_ and I was terrified of leaving my room. All summer, I had to live with it crawling about and I was always just side of paralyzed.”

“Wow, I never would’ve thought. Gods, that must’ve been terrible.”

“Oh it was but it was nothing in the grand scheme of things. After all, the smallest scent of fear would’ve set them all after me so I had to pretend almost all the time. He was a horrible house-guest, did not clean after himself at all.”

Harry can’t help the snort at the perfectly timed comment. Draco offers him a lazy smile before handing him the bottle and stretching out against the grass. His lean figure is a sight, angled to face Harry.

“So that’s about my struggles with the Manor and why it’s not home anymore.”

It’s Harry’s turn to talk surely, but he can’t think of anything to say. Well, except for the one thing running through his mind right now but he’s not sure he’s drunk enough to start that. And the only logical thing to do now is bring the bottle to his lips and chug as much whiskey as he can without choking.

A minute later when his thoughts have started blurring and he can feel his inhibitions falling, he moves to lay down beside his partner. That thing on his mind doesn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore.

“You’ve changed so much since then. Part of it must be due to the whole Death Eaters in your house thing.”

Draco turns away from, his body moving about so he can look up at the sky rather than face Harry and he understands that action. He gets it.

“Part of it, yes. You know, when He held me close, _‘hugged me’_ so to speak, I've never felt more disgusted with myself. Actually, no that's not true, it came very close to when I almost killed Dumbledore. But in that moment, when He spread his arms for me and his skin touched mine, I--I wished, for a moment, that I was dead. And self-preservation is in the blood of every Slytherin, so you can add that up."

Merlin, such a painful memory gets thrown in his face so brashly and all he can do is lay there in silence: Dumbledore’s death.

It takes him a moment to recover, to feel his fingers again from where they’ve gone numb.

Draco doesn’t say anything, probably regretting bringing up what must have been another terrible memory of the Dark Lord. Harry had been there when Voldemort had stepped forward and spread his arms to embrace Draco in front of everyone. Honestly, Harry had had his doubts about Draco’s allegiance after the not-recognizing-Harry incident at the Manor but he’d never have thought what was going through the 17-year old boy’s mind as the Darkest Wizard of all time touched him, held him close.

With a start, Harry remembers the time Draco had held him close that first week in that pitch dark room and his skin prickles with unease. At least that’s what he tells himself as he feels a buzz of current in his fingers and toes.

He really needs to defuse the tension that’s now hovering between them. He wants the comfortable silence back, the serenity.

“Are you saying that a hug from the Dark Lord transformed you?”

Loud laughter echoes off the water, it’s a most beautiful sound but Harry doesn’t dare turn to look. He’s already struggling with keeping his hands to himself, even after all the horrific things they’ve talked about just now. He can’t believe that he’s just heard Dumbledore’s death being mentioned so casually and he’s not angry or blaming Draco but rather struggling with not touching the thin fingers splayed in the grass so close to his own.

Thankfully, Draco interrupts his very inappropriate thoughts before he can do something he’ll later regret.

“Who says I’m transformed?”

“I’d say you are very transformed, and there are others who think you have something good hiding behind all tha--”

"I don't have a heart of gold underneath, like Rita Skeeter seems to think. And I've told her this to her face, she knows I don't agree with her but for some reason, she keeps pushing it. Wants people to know I've got a pure heart or something.

I'm not saying I'm the same person I used to be before the war, but I'm also not sure I'm different. Even during that time, when it was all going to shit around me, I changed a lot. Learnt so much, I just don't know how much of this is a mask and how much is real, anymore.”

Harry had closed his eyes at some point, letting the words wash over him and fit like a second skin but then all of a sudden, Draco stops talking and a quick movement makes him snap his eyes open to find Draco sitting up rather abruptly.

He looks like a man on a mission and Harry instantly recognizes passion on his face. Surely, he’s about to share something that’s important to him. For a moment, as Draco is moving around to find a good position to settle into, Harry wonders how come Draco didn’t have this sheer intensity on his face when talking about his mother or the war.

It reminds Harry of a young Malfoy, always wearing his emotions on his face and ready to snap any second as opposed to the mellow person he’s now grown to be. This is the Malfoy Harry’s been wanting to see all along. That's why he's been poking and prodding - to see this Malfoy, the one with burning eyes.

“This whole Slytherin thing, it irks me. That damn Sorting Hat can decide someone's fate, someone's destiny. I mean, just look at my family. Mother used to be a Black, one of the most rigid pure-blood families in the wizarding world. And just within that family, there are dozens of examples of how one decision by that damn hat can change lives.

My mum and aunt Andromeda grew up in the same house and yet one married a muggle and ended up getting burned out of the family tree while the other married a Malfoy and became a death-eater through marriage. I'm not saying there weren't other differences between them, but it counts a lot who you have around you.”

He’s talking at such a speed without even stopping for a breath that Harry’s having to strain his ears to catch all of it, Draco's tongue lilting around his strong accent even more now that he’s not watching what he’s saying and god Harry’s grateful being here and now.

“Take, Sirius and Regulus Black, same family yet so different because of the people they were surrounded by. They did the same thing in the end, led to the Dark Lord's demise but that one difference of being placed in different houses made them who they were.

My mum, she was brought up in a family that believed muggles shouldn't be allowed to do magic. She married a Malfoy, tied herself to a man who prides himself on his lineage like it's something he has achieved. That's what they taught me, and why would I question my own parents?

My father's been a Death Eater for decades, he didn't see reason when it came to the Dark Lord. That whole summer, when He was at the manor and all the Death Eaters were there, my father didn't think of my mother's safety or mine. I mean, the prick would've killed us all, the only thing keeping him from doing it was probably the loyalty so if he suspected anything even a bit, we'd all be dead.

My father was blind, his hero-worship got in the way but my mother could see it. She wanted to protect me. I was only ever an heir producer, a continuer of the Malfoy line for my father and I doubt he'd ever do what my mother did for me.

She lied that day to the Dark Lord but she didn't do it out of the goodness of her heart, we both know this. She did it for her son. She said that when she put her hand on your heart, she felt your power and she knew you were more powerful than the Dark Lord. In that moment, she knew her son could only be safe if she saved you. So, she did what she had to do. She did what she did not because she has a good heart, she did it because she's a mother.

Ambition is important for a Slytherin. I won't deny it, it's important for me still. But, caring for our own is important too.

See, you're a Gryffindor because you're always courageous. She's a Slytherin because she's courageous when her son is in danger.

You're brave because it's in your blood. I'm brave when someone I love is threatened. That's why so many people are caught up between Gryffindor and Slytherin, there are so many similarities.

This is why it's absurd to me sometimes, that Slytherin is so villainized. And I'm not saying the dark magic thing isn't a pattern, it definitely is. But, you know, so many people I know became Death Eaters because their families were, because it was expected of them.

I mean _you_ know something about that, don't you? If the world expects you to save the day, you save the day. World expects you to become a Death Eater, how long till you give in and give them what they want?

We all have our scars, Harry. Some of ours are just under the surface."

It feels like he’s had the breath knocked out of him. Even though it’s Draco who’s been speaking, he’s the one who’s winded.

The man next to him isn’t facing him anymore.

In the moonlight, Harry can see Draco’s chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He has intentionally turned away from Harry and is staring at the lake right now.

“I--”

“You don’t have to say anything. It just--I think I drank too much.”

“No, no it’s alright. I’m glad you shared that with me.”

Draco nods at him and goes to lie back down. Harry really can’t look away this time, the lean figure next to him is simply breathtaking.

His clothes are always perfect but the way his trousers are hugging his long legs crossed at the ankles, Harry personally wants to send his tailor a gift basket. The dark grey slacks barely graze pale, bony ankles and it’s driving him mad.

Pulling his gaze upward with an effort, it settles on thin but firm looking thighs, gods the sheer strength he remembers Malfoy having despite his skinny frame, gods why.

_He mustn’t do this, he must not._

The trousers sit on narrow hips, hugging that waist in a death grip beneath the jacket that’s lying abandoned next to the bottles. Even the leather belt makes Harry’s breath catch, images of black leather wrapped around pale wrists or clutched in lean, long fingers--no.

His torso is long just like the rest of him, the fabric of the midnight blue shirt stretching sinfully across his chest is making breathing very challenging for Harry. He should look away, he shoul--

“Do you think our choices really matter in the end?”

Snapping his eyes away from roaming around like a creep any longer, he settles them on the dark sky. It really is beautiful out here, more so with present company.

“Dumbledore once told me that it’s our choices far more than our abilities that show what we truly are.”

“Is that what you think?”

His thoughts stutter to a stop. His reason for telling Draco what Dumbledore had said was to answer his question but apparently he failed to. And it’s with a jolt that he realizes it, because no one has ever asked Harry what he thinks.

All his life he’s been told what to think or how to live his life.

And here is Draco Malfoy asking Harry what he thinks.

“I think our choices shape us. Whether that means the choices we make or the ones we are forced into.”

“Hmmm.”

“Sometimes though, it doesn’t matter what we chose. Sometimes, it’s just fate.”

“Like how you ended up going to Hogwarts even though you didn’t know it existed?”

 _Yeah, exactly like that,_ he wants to say.

“I used to wonder if I'd ever get out of that house, used to day-dream about becoming someone someday. Hoping I'd be someone important, someone who people would miss if something were to happen to me. It just seemed so impossible while living in that cupboard under the stairs. Impossible that someone would miss me.”

“And then you got the whole wizarding world falling at your feet.”

“Except you.”

“Except me.”

“That was me asking when will you be falling at my feet, by the way.”

“The day Hogwarts treats Slytherin like an equal to Gryffindor. That day I will fall at your feet.”

He has no answer to that.

One day, he hopes.

Draco is still next to him, his eyes closed and his head pillowed on his arms. He looks like his own age for a change, rather than someone who’s been forced to grow up beyond his years.

“Did you know I was almost sorted Slytherin?”

Pale grey eyes snap open and widen in shock, Harry finds himself laughing at Draco’s surprise. He supposes he’d also be quite shocked if Draco ever said he almost sorted Gryffindor.

“Oh, piss off, Potter!”

“I was, and that’s where I’d be if I didn’t chant ‘ _anywhere but Slytherin_ ’ like a spell over and over while the hat decided.”

“And why’s that?”

“Well, Ron and Hagrid had told me about dark wizards from Slytherin and how they were followers of Voldemort.”

“And there haven’t been dark wizards from other houses? Or good ones from Slytherin? Did you know that Merlin, arguably the greatest wizard of all time, was a Slytherin?”

“He what?!”

“Yes. Just think about this a second, you were someone who had known about magic for all of a day and you already thought Slytherin was full of villains and cheats. Because that’s what we’re teaching the children.”

“I mean, I do understand why they would say it--”

“As do I, a majority of Slytherins became Death Eaters but has anyone stopped to ask why? Maybe it’s what we’re teaching them they are worth. Maybe their families who are Death Eaters would abandon them if they didn’t follow. Or maybe after years of being teased about being bad and never winning anything despite being talented, the only point of pride that remains for a Slytherin is to prove just how bad and evil he or she is.”

“Did you ever feel that way?”

“Well, let’s see: every time Slytherin beat Gryffindor at the House Cup someone would give you bonus points, ‘100 points to Hermione Granger for having a brain’ or ‘500 points to Harry Potter for waking up this morning’ or--”

“It wasn’t really like that!”

“Wasn’t it? Did you know that Slytherin was winning the House cup for six years consecutively until 1991, when you paraded along. So, unless everyone left in Slytherin that year was shit, we both know what happened.”

“I don’t agree with that, you had a fair chance to--”

“Did we? I mean, I didn’t ever receive points for breathing or being alive.”

“You know it wasn’t as simple as that. And Snape was always giving you points and taking them from Gryffindor!”

“Oh yes, the one time he gave me points that I deserved, yes.”

“Why are we arguing about this?”

“My point is that the entire school has a bias toward Slytherin students, not entirely baseless but unfair nonetheless. Do you know how many students are being bullied for being Slytherins right now? Just because we made bad decisions or our parents did, there are 11-year olds hating themselves for being who they are.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“I recently met a 12-year old boy, whose mother wrote to me saying ‘He’s been really down all summer. He won’t eat properly or talk to us because children at school keep telling him he’s going to be a Death Eater whether he wants to or not’. I agreed to a floo visit at his mother’s request just so he could see that I wasn’t some dark wizard killing children just because I sorted Slytherin.”

“That’s not right.”

“No, it’s not. But in a post-war world, it really doesn’t matter what some 12-year old is feeling, especially if he’s in Slytherin house. The politics and bureaucracy is much more important.”

Harry’s thoughts race around everything Draco’s said. Since the moment he knew about the wizarding world, he thought of Slytherin as bad essentially. Every time someone said anything about Slytherin, it was about how villainous and evil they all are. He’s never once thought well of anyone in Slytherin.

And that time Hagrid had said, ‘I can’t think of a single wizard who went bad and was who wasn’t in Slytherin’. Well, Harry can.

_The man who betrayed his parents._

The man who played the biggest part in bringing Voldemort back from near-death.

Peter Pettigrew. He wasn’t a Slytherin.

He was a Gryffindor.

 _It's only one man though_ , his brain supplies. _And there have been dozens from Slytherin who have turned bad and who wanted purity of blood and all that shite._

“Okay, but what about all the Slytherins that did become Death Eaters? Even if they had their reasons or whatever, it does look bad to an outsider, doesn’t it?”

“As you know, I have quite a sundry assortment of mentally unstable relatives and blood relations who dabbled in the dark arts. It hasn’t necessarily made my life any easier.”

“Well, they did sort of play an integral role in bringing Voldemort back.”

“They did. Bellatrix and Father, above all. And then there was Regulus Black, the Death Eater who turned good and almost destroyed one of the horcruxes. It’s funny no one remembers his sacrifice and for a house elf too. He was in Slytherin house, but I suppose anything he did after that was irrelevant.”

“Okay, I see your point there but you have to admit that the Blacks didn’t really do themselves any favours either.”

“Oh, most certainly not. The whole lot of them were pure-blood supremacists just like Father, that’s why Mother was the way she was and that’s why she married a Malfoy as a point of honour. They encouraged Voldemort in his schemes to get rid of the muggles, and they were proud of their sixteen-year old Death Eater son.”

“Regulus?”

“Yes, his story is quite similar to mine in some ways, raised to believe we were superior just because of our blood. Also taught that the Dark Lord will make sure only the best of the best remain and that we must help him in that mission. Except, when it really came down to it and we had a glimpse of just what was expected of us, well. I guess, we both weren’t cut out for it. The difference is he actively did something to stop the terror while I cowered when asked to kill someone.”

“Dumbledore believed that you weren’t an assassin.”

“That’s quite clear, I think. He offered me a choice as if it was even in my hands at all. I knew He’d have killed my parents if I failed.”

“He didn’t actually offer you a choice, I don’t think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know how Snape was the one who used the killing curse as he’d made an unbreakable vow with your mother? Dumbledore had actually asked Snape to be the one to kill him because he didn’t want you to carry that burden.”

“But why would he want to be killed?”

“Because he was already dying, he touched one of the horcruxes and he was going to die a slow and painful death so he asked Snape to kill him and keep his cover in front of the Death Eaters.”

“And no one ever bothered to tell me?”

“Well, no one really knows, do they? I mean, it’s public knowledge that Snape was a spy but no one was there during his and Dumbledore’s conversations. I only know because Snape left me a memory to see in the Pensieve. He was in love with my mother, all those years. That’s why he agreed to spy on Voldemort for Dumbledore actually, in exchange for her safety.”

“Bloody hell! Severus was in love with your mother?!”

“I know, I still can’t believe it.”

“So, he risked getting tortured for eternity to save your mother and then your father’s best mate gave them up?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the people, Potter. Not the houses or the families, it’s the person inside. And the people around you.”

“Yeah.”

An owl hoots in the distance and another one flies above them, almost as if watching them. Draco’s up and pulling his shoes on at a lightening speed without even saying anything.

“What’re yo--what’s wrong?”

“We’ve been found out.”

“Found out? But you said-”

“I said I _can_ apparate here, doesn’t mean it’s legal.”

“Malfoy!”

“What? I never claimed to be an upstanding citizen!”

“And what if he get caught, you git? What then?”

“Well then, get your arse up and let’s go!”

“But we’re drunk, I’m not sure we should appar--”

“Would you rather answer to the Headmistress, then?”

“Professor Mcgonagall?”

“She knows I come here, she’s asked Neville about it. Doesn’t really mind but she may have owled me to go meet her and I may have ignored it--”

“You what, you bloody idiot?”

“Alright, enough with the names, Potter. Let’s go!”

He doesn’t even get a chance to pick up the discarded bottle of firewhiskey near his feet before Draco’s taking his hand and the familiar swoop of apparition makes his stomach knot up. A second later, they land in a somewhat familiar room.

“You apparated us to your home?”

“Where else did you think I’d go? To sodding America?”

“If they track the magic, they can find out who it was.”

“They have better things to do than track someone who was just sitting beside the Black Lake. Plus, she already knows it’s me.”

“You’re absolutely mental.”

“That is rich coming from you.”

“Whatever, you trespassing lunatic.”

“Just sit down, Potter, before you sway on your very drunk feet and faint or something. That’s an old habit, isn’t it?”

“Git.”

“Idiot.”

After a tall glass of water and a capful of sobering potion, Harry says goodnight and apparates to his room.

The quiet in the dark room is biting, snapping at him and he wants to go back to the lake and listen to Draco’s passionate rants about things he genuinely cares for and probably never gets to talk about. As he lays down in the darkness and the silence, he wonders how he’s going to go back to a life where Draco isn’t a permanent fixture.

His last thought before sleep whisks him away is how everything feels so right all of a sudden.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can not begin to tell you how much I enjoyed writing this chapter, everything about Draco is delicate and yet unconquerable for me. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. Let me know!


	8. Have you no idea that you're in deep, I dreamt about you nearly every night this week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is the unwritten rule of fic: when a character thinks of how everything feels so right, then something must go wrong.

Draco wakes up with a slight ache in his head but otherwise, he’s feeling rather good in the two minutes he’s been awake. Even Abraxas has decided to give him a break today.

After his weekly letter to Mother and a quick thank you note to Blaise about the sweets he had sent from Prague last week, he makes his way to the little bakery down the street to grab fresh pasties for breakfast. For some reason, he feels quite light today for a change and he’s learnt the hard way to enjoy the good days because you never know when you might have your next.

The lady in the bakery points him toward the freshly baked Cornish pastries and the truly delectable looking Treacle Tart. He buys both and walks over to the bookstore across the street with the closest floo option.

Laden with sweets and a rather untroubled mind, Draco steps out of the Ministry floo. As is customary at this time of day, the halls are full of Ministry employees rushing about to get to work on time. Draco is usually here before the rush but the detour to the bakery added a few extra minutes and now he has to share a lift with nosy, gossipy witches who don’t even notice him in the back as they proceed to chinwag.

“Did you see this morning’s _Prophet_? I had no idea Harry Potter was working with a _Death Eater_.”

As the other women gasp and look scandalized, Draco allows himself a slow smile. He’s hardly ever been the subject of office gossip since most people at the Department of Mysteries are not familiar with his work or personal life.

“Oh gods, what has this world come to! Harry Potter working with a bleeding Death Eater!”

That irks him a little, how dare these people talk about him like a low-life! But he takes a quiet breath and hopes they will get out of the lift soon.

“Why do you think he agreed to it? He even came back from France especially for this.”

“I reckon he’s being forced to do it. Why would he chose to work with someone who worked for You-Know-Who?”

“That or he could be doing it out of pity. There’s not a lot a Death Eater would be worth now, maybe he’s being his usual generous self.”

“Oh, he is, isn’t he? Oh, if he were twenty odd years older!”

“Eugh, he’s young enough to be your son, Agatha!”

“I know, and I’d force my daughter to marry him if she weren’t already pregnant with that useless Timothy’s child!”

They all laugh as if she’s just made the funniest joke. No one seems to notice the quiet figure in the lift until the voice announces the Auror Department. Without excusing himself, Draco shoulders his way to the front of the lift and steps outside.

He can see realization dawn on their scared little faces, and a younger Draco might have been tempted to sneer and grate out a ‘My father will hear about this’. But he’s not that person anymore.

No, now he turns around and offers a cheery, “I hope you have a lovely grandchild!”

The look on their faces will have to do for now, they all look petrified as the grilled gates close between them and the lift disappears. Draco gives himself a moment to get his mask back on. Tardiness will not do.

And he doesn’t have time for sentimental crap right now.

So, he turns around and walks to his office where the Golden Boy is nowhere to be seen. No surprise there, he thinks.

He’d really like a tea right about now but he doesn’t fancy listening to any more duffers praising Saint Potter for his generosity and big heart to agree to work with a Death Eater. And he’d brought pastries too, dammit!

“Draco, hiya!”

Well, here is the Saviour and the human embodiment of sacrifice and generosity! Draco has to remind himself that it’s not Harry who said all those things, he probably hasn’t even seen the paper yet.

“Hi.”

“Oh, I got you tea. Hang on a minute, it was supposed to be following me.”

Draco really can’t help but roll his eyes that time. This idiot supposedly defeated the Dark Lord in a duel when he can’t even levitate a cup of tea properly. A mop of unruly hair appears back into the room followed by a rather built body and finally, two teacups.

“Here, I put in a lot of milk and heaps of sugar, which I don’t know how you can eat that much sugar and still look like you’re a second away from hitting me. Can you even taste the tea with that much sugar?

“Don’t get cute with me, Potter.”

“I beg your pardon? You think I’m cute?”

The idiot flutters his eyelashes like a blushing maiden, complete with his hand clutching his chest and stupid lips in a perfect “o” shape, and it shouldn’t be this hard to look away from him. His stupid green eyes are practically mirrors with how much they shine and Draco really needs to look away and say something.

“Have you read today’s _Prophet?_ ”

“Oh gods, not you too!”

“‘ _The Boy who Lived and The Boy in whose house the Dark Lord Lived working together’_. Is that supposed to be my moniker, then? Is that what I will be known for? Being the owner of the house where some self-obsessed, noseless twat lived? Why are you laughing, Potter, you sodding idiot?”

“I’m just--I can’t believe that’s the part you’re angry about!”

“Of course, I am. Is this what my grave will say? ‘ _Here lies Draco Lucius Malfoy, the Boy in whose house the Dark Lord ate and slept and did his business_ ’. This is outrageous! And will you stop giggling like a thirteen-year old with a crush?”

“Does it really bother you that much?”

“No, I always get worked up about what the rags say!”

“Right well, they’re wrong about a lot of things. For instance, they said that we wouldn’t be working together unless someone was forcing us - which we know is not true - or the case was something that needed knowledge of dark magic, which is also not true since we’ll be assisting on auror cases that might not need dark magi--”

“Wait, stop. Go back a bit.”

“What?”

“Assisting on auror cases? When did we--”

“Oh right, so Kingsley asked me to go see him this morning after he saw the article and he asked me if we would assist with a few auror cases till there’s some progress with this wizard, I mean we’re just sitting here all day waiting for him to appear so we may as well help, y’know. Plus, this will show the papers that we can work together without the need for--”

“So you and Shacklebolt decided this but didn’t bother to ask me?”

“Well, I just figured you’re already here so you might as well--”

“And what if I have other obligations? What then?”

“I didn’t think you--are you mad at me?”

“Did you think I’d just drop everything important just to work with you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t realize you had other things to do.”

“Oh, so I just sit around and wait for you to come along and ask for my help. Is that what you think I do?”

“Why are you being so cranky? I’m sorry I didn’t ask y--”

“No, you know what, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t work with you on bloody auror cases--”

“Why?”

“Because when all is said and done, you will be going off to wherever it is you live now and I’ll be the one staying here and the one people will be talking shit about and--”

“What the hell are you saying?”

“I’m saying that no matter how much I work on leaving my past behind, people will always see me as a Death Eater if you’re around. And I can’t throw away the progress I’ve made after the war.”

“And what about the progress we’ve made? You’re ready to throw that away?”

“Oh, don’t be so Gryffindor about this, Potter! You know just as well as I do that the papers will never stop printing rubbish about me if the Golden Boy is working with a Death Eater.”

“Or maybe they’ll realize that you’ve changed, since we are mates now and I’ve forgotten about--”

“Oh _you_ have forgotten about what I did, have you? Defender of the weak, Champion of lost causes, Boy wonder: is that why you're associating with me, then? So you can redeem me somehow?"

He says those things but deep down he knows that Potter doesn’t look at him like the boy who'd made _Potter Stinks_ badges in fourth year or the Death Eater who let Bellatrix into Hogwarts. Potter looks at him like an equal, and that has been an unsettling realization all this time.

“When have I ever said anything about redemption or anything--”

“You haven’t but everyone else has. Apparently, I’m a charity case, a shining example of your generosity!”

“Well, I can’t control what others say. This is a price to being my mate, the press will always hound me and--”

“You think this is about _you_? Merlin, how fucking narcissistic are you, Potter?”

“ _I’m_ narcissistic? _You_ are calling _me_ narcissistic?”

“Oh, do excuse my genuine concern for myself there, O’ Great one. Of course, everything is about you! Why wouldn’t it be? You saved us all and therefore yours is the most important life, the rest of us are scum!”

“Draco, wait--”

“Oh fuck off!”

He doesn’t even bother taking his tart, to hell with everything. Potter’s calling out his name but Draco couldn’t care less about him right now. He rushes toward the staircase, elbowing a few people here and there on his way, and disapparates.

What a lovely day it has been.

***

Harry’s left standing in the office with people walking past and sneaking glances inside like he can’t see them being nosy.

Bloody hell.

Draco’s tea is sitting on his desk, steam still rising from the cup.

He doesn’t even know how they went from mocking the bloody article written by Rita bloody Skeeter to arguing and to Draco storming out of here with Harry calling after him.

And he knows he cocked up, he should have asked Draco before agreeing to Kingsley’s request this morning. But, it had been so out of the blue. Harry had just gotten out of the shower when an owl had landed on his window and handed him a note from the Minister for Magic.

_‘Meet me in my office at the earliest, Harry.’ - Kingsley_

He had rushed thinking it was an emergency but Kingsley had presented him with a copy of the _Prophet_ and told him that the Ministry wanted to make sure that that the pressure on the Auror Department from the press and the public was dealt with properly.

“Everyone knows that you don’t live in England anymore so they know it must be important if you’ve come. And Mr. Malfoy is still a former Death Eater, despite of his changed ambitions. So, we would like to put our best foot forward, so to speak. And to show that the Ministry made the right decision in bringing you two together. So, I would like to ask you if you and Mr. Malfoy will assist on a few auror investigations till our suspect makes another appearance.”

Honestly, Harry hadn’t thought about returning to France for a while before Kingsley brought it up. And in that moment, he hadn’t wanted to, either.

So, the obvious answer was yes. They were mostly sitting in their office and bickering about trivial things and he was dying to go into the field as he knew Draco was too so of course, they’d assist with auror investigations.

He hadn’t, for a single second, thought about asking Draco first. The only thought running through his mind was that he’d finally get to be proper partners with Draco Malfoy.

***

“What’s he done now?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve got that face on.”

“I repeat, excuse me?”

“You know, the ‘Potter is a bloody idiot, I wish he was never born’ face.”

“Pansy, do shut up.”

“Well, he’s definitely done something for you to be talking in that posh voice rather than the commoner expressions you’ve picked up from Weasley and--”

“He is a prick.”

“That’s it? You used to curse up a storm about Potter and now all you’ve got is ‘ _he’s a prick_ ’?

“Will you stop aggravating me?”

“Do you want me to leave so you can brood in peace?”

“I am doing no such thing!”

“Sure. Now, will you get ready so we can go meet Blaise? We made plans months ago, Potter’s only been here a few weeks and he’s already messing up all your--”

“You’re right, I will not let him interrupt my life. Give me five minutes to change.”

“Brill, I’ll be here petting your cat.”

“Good luck with that. Bloody Potter’s allowed to do it of course, that barmy prick!”

“Darling, do try to not think of him every waking moment.”

He turns around to find her smirking at him, the stupid cow.

“Do try to fuck off, Pansy.”

Her laughter is loud and rich, startling Abraxas and Draco both with the sheer volume. He turns away and goes to change into his newest robes, dinner with Blaise is always eventful. He’s the one that got away from this hellhole in time and has made a life elsewhere.

Tonight is about Blaise and Pansy, Draco’s friends who don’t associate with him out of pity and don’t think he needs redemption.

Screw Harry Potter.

***

He may have had a bit much to drink last night. Blaise had ordered a full bottle of Dragonstail Vodka and Draco may have monopolized it. He may also have ranted about messy black hair and stupidly green eyes.

Getting out of bed and getting to work is a challenge, he half-heartedly concedes that the consecutive days of drinking may be behind him. His body is certainly not happy with being used as a generously-sized vessel for vodka.

When he gets to works, the Minister for Magic is standing outside his office with his hands neatly folded in front of him.

“Mr. Malfoy, good morning.”

“And to you, Minister.”

“Nice to see that at least some of my employees turn up before 9 am.”

His brain is a little slow this morning, given that he’s only had a few hours’ sleep and no tea as of yet.

“Sir?”

“Walk with me, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yes, of course.”

Shacklebolt leads him down the corridor toward the Conference Room they share with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Ushering Draco inside, he goes to shut the door. Well, looks like they are having an official chat, then.

“Mr. Malfoy, it has come to my notice that you’ve had a disagreement with Mr. Potter recently.”

He really can’t hold back the venom in his voice, “And which one of the office gossips told you that?”

The man simply raises a single eyebrow leaving Draco feeling slightly regretful. But only slightly, and nowhere near enough to take it back. Shacklebolt seems to accept that an apology or explanation is not coming.

“Very well. I would just like to say that I do feel it was partly my fault. I should have asked you just as I asked Mr. Potter, instead of assuming that you would be willing.”

“I agree.”

Shacklebolt mouth shifts in a trace of a smile, he is probably used to employees bending over backwards to please the Minister for Magic, rather than having the backbone to correct him when he is wrong.

“Now that that’s been addressed, I would officially like to request your assistance on auror investigations while you await another sighting of your prime suspect.”

“Can I ask you something first, Minister?”

“Yes, sure.”

“Does this have anything to do with the article in yesterday’s _Daily Prophet_?”

There’s that barely-there smile again. Turns out, Ministry employees are also not very keen on asking questions from their superiors.

“In part, yes, Mr. Malfoy. I feel that a partnership between you and Mr. Potter would reflect very well on the Ministry but also send a message to the public.”

“And what message is that, Minister?”

“That we have moved past the war, Mr. Malfoy. That the prejudices people hold are outdated and should be gotten rid of.”

“You think me and Potter working together will achieve that?”

“Maybe not but it will make people think twice about their biases.”

“Alright, I will do it.”

“Good. Also, might I suggest that you and Mr. Potter have your arguments with the door shut? It really lessens the chances of, how did you put it, ‘old gossips’ hearing things.”

It’s his turn to suppress a smile at the cheek of Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“Noted.”

Potter is sitting at his desk by the time Draco returns to the office, a cup of tea by his arm and his head resting on his arms. He looks up in surprise when Draco walks past him to his own desk.

“Draco, you’re here.”

It isn’t until he hears that voice that he remembers how mad he is with Potter and why.

***

His head is absolutely killing him. 

His godson is a terror and Harry had made the mistake of offering Andromeda to babysit him for the day. She had happily agreed, probably relieved to have a peaceful day to herself.

After his fight with Draco, he had decided to go home and try to distract himself. Hermione had brought Rose and Andromeda had agreed to bring Teddy too and Harry was ready to cry within the hour.

In four hours, _he had cried_.

Dark Lords are nothing compared to children, he had learnt yesterday after hours of chasing demon spawn all over 12 Grimmauld Place. Kreacher had just wrinkled his nose and gone on doing whatever it was he did by himself all the time.

Finally, come morning, Andromeda had come over and collected her grandson and Harry had gotten one hour of blissful peace before he had to get to work. And the second he stepped into the office, he realized he’d have to see Draco. He was planning on what to say to him and had somehow ended up falling into a second’s sleep when the sound of someone walking by him startled him awake.

Turns out, he needn’t have worried about apologizing to Draco since the man is ignoring Harry.

They are literally working four metres from each other and Draco is pretending that he can’t see or hear Harry. It was almost funny at first, the way Draco hadn’t answered his greeting or even looked over at Harry, acting like a petulant child.

Now, it’s rather upsetting.

Especially because it’s almost lunch time and Harry would like to go back to that Indian place with Draco.

“Hey, do you want to go to that Indian place for lunch?”

No answer.

It’s getting on his nerves now. It’s like Draco’s seeing right through him, like they never worked through all their shite and got to a point where he voluntarily shared some of his most closely guarded secrets with the git.

His patience is wearing thin.

“How long are you going to keep this up, then?”

That stupid fucking hand won’t stop writing and Harry just really wants to snatch that quill and break it in two.

“I said I was sorry about not asking you, what else do you want me to say?”

Long, pale fingers keep gripping the quill as it scribbles over parchment.

“Would you rather I send you an enormous bouquet with a gaudy line like ‘ _Your smile is like Expelliarmus: simple but disarming_ ’?”

And finally, fucking finally, the quill stops moving and that stupid blond head snaps up and piercing grey eyes settle on him. Harry can feel his breath leave him in a whoosh as if someone’s physically tackled him. He will sit and think about why that is when he’s home but for now he can’t help but grin sheepishly at Draco sodding Malfoy.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Potter!”

He keeps a straight face for about five seconds, those pointy features all sharp and unamused before one side of his mouth lifts up and then he’s laughing with his head thrown back and Harry is in trouble. _Deep fucking trouble._

“I don’t know, I might do it.”

“I will skin you in your sleep, Golden Boy or not.”

“We’ll see about that. Now come on, let’s go, I’m starving. I didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

“Why’s that?”

“I had cake at three in the morning so I wasn’t hungry.”

“And what sort of time do you call that?”

“I had my godson over and he was hungry.”

“So you fed him cake? At three in the morning?”

“Well, he asked for it.”

There’s that single blond eyebrow raised at him, judging him for every decision he’s ever made.

“Remind me to never leave a child in your care.”

He’s going to completely and unabashedly ignore the frisson in his chest at that comment.

“Yeah, whatever. Oh hey, thanks for the tart yesterday, it’s my favourite.”

“Wait, you ate my tart?”

“Well, you just left it and it was going to go bad if I didn’t eat it.”

“So not only did you fuck up yesterday, you also stole my pasties?”

“I didn’t steal them, you left them and they would’ve--”

“You’re a thief, Harry Potter.”

“Oh come on, I’ll pay for your lunch.”

“And a briber!”

“Just come on, you pointy git!”

***

They get called in for their first case when Draco is right in the middle of moaning and complaining about having nothing to do.

The memo from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol reads:

_‘Triple murder in a quiet country village. Request for backup.’_

Draco is grinning from ear to ear as he reads the memo over Harry’s shoulder before he realizes how inappropriate it is to be smiling, but Harry can understand his eagerness. After being stuck inside an office reading dozens of books and reports, field duty sounds like a treat. Even if it is something as horrible as murder.

They apparate to the given location with barely contained eagerness, and find two patrolmen already waiting for them with an update on what’s happening.

“Three members of the same family have been found dead, sir. Two stabbed with a dagger and one poisoned. Mr. Timothy Ackers was a local businessman, sir. He was quite wealthy and was about to make changes to his will, according to his lawyer. The other two deceased are his son and daughter-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Ackers. They were both stabbed, sir.”

“Right, thank you. Can we take a look at the bodies?”

Harry catches the look of disdain one of the patrolmen shoots Draco, and it stirs something in him.

“Is there a problem, Officer?”

The man looks like he’s about piss himself. Harry feels satisfaction taking root in the midst of anger, but Draco beats the man to an answer.

“It’s me that’s the problem here, isn’t it? Well, the Minister for Magic personally asked me to assist with investigations, perhaps you’d like to speak with him, Officer--Troy?”

The man’s face turns a sickly pale at the mention of Kingsley, Harry actually feels bad for him but Draco doesn’t look a bit affected. And Harry should not find this arseholish-ness appealing at all, he knows.

“No, that will not be necessary.”

“And if you’re done with glaring at me then can we get a move on?”

Poor Officer Troy sputters a bit in the face of the unapologetic Malfoy way and leads them toward a huge country house. They get to work in silence, looking for any traces of magic left behind.

The other aurors work around them, taking witness accounts and turning the whole house upside down for any clues. All the while looking at Draco with distrustful eyes.

So, it’s no wonder that they all gawk in shocked silence when it’s Draco who solves the whole thing in less than a day.

“Mr. Ackers was murdered because of his will, I believe his daughter-in-law and her boyfriend did it and I bet Mr. Ackers was about to change the beneficiaries in his will.”

The three aurors and the patrolman in the room are all gawking at Draco and Harry feels something so close to pride that he has to look away lest his face betray what he’s denying himself, so he turns to face the fancy glass cabinet instead.

After a second of silent staring, the huge auror with red hair and a heavy beard breaks it.

“How did you--how do you know this?”

“Well, it’s quite obvious really, if you know what to look for.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see the aurors clenching their jaws and fists - clear signs of feeling insulted. Harry can see why, Draco is looking around with an air of superiority, he probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it. The git probably has an innate ability to look smug and superior without trying or meaning to.

Sensing the tension in the air, Harry know he has to step in before Draco offends someone enough to get punched or worse.

“Draco, why do you think that about the beneficiaries?”

The git looks at Harry and starts explaining with smugness still sitting tight on his face, “Because Mr. Ackers realised that he had fathered an illegitimate daughter and so he wanted to include her in the will. But that would mean a lower share for everyone else and Mrs. Ackers didn’t want to part with her well-earned inheritance. So she and her boyfriend offed the old man before he could change the will. Then, the daughter killed both Mr. and Mrs. Ackers because she was under the impression that the two killed her father.”

“Illegitimate daughter?”

“There is a trace of magic in Mr. Acker’s bedroom that isn’t present anywhere else. I remember coming across the same signature while talking to one of the villagers: Miss Hardwick. And judging from the letters he had banished to his study, he was trying to get in touch with her and possibly get to know her before he died.”

Now, he’s the one gawking at Draco but the sentiment he feels is pure amazement. He’s always known how observant Draco is, most of that skill was used to humiliate and bully during their childhood days by identifying someone’s weakest spot and making sure to hit the person where it hurt most, but he had no idea that the blond was such a brilliant auror. 

“Wow!”

That’s his voice and he’s just said that out loud without meaning to. And Draco’s face is so smug upon hearing those words that he almost looks like a mirror of Lucius Malfoy, the most smug man in the world.

The other aurors are still processing what Draco’s said and he himself looks like he’s walking on clouds.

“I suggest we go find Miss Hardwick before she disappears. And we need to find Mr. Ackers’ solicitor and get a statement from him.”

And that’s how Harry and Draco end up in front of the Hardwick cottage, waiting for someone to answer the door. Draco hasn’t said a word since they split from the other aurors and Harry wonders how much it has to do with them being here to arrest a girl who’s barely 18.

Before he can say anything, the door swings open to reveal an old lady standing off to the side. Harry remembers her well from their chat about the Ackers.

“Mrs. Hardwick, we are here to see your niece, Miss Hardwick. May we come in?”

She offers them a soft smile before opening the door a little wider.

“Oh, please do. Have you found something, then?”

Harry hesitates to tell her that they think her young niece is a murderer, he looks to Draco for a sign but finds the blond frozen just inside the door as if he’s seen a ghost. Well, they’ve seen their fair share of ghosts at Hogwarts but out here in the real world, a post-war world, ghosts can be the scariest thing.

“Draco?”

He doesn’t even blink. Harry steps forward with an extended hand but Mrs. Hardwick’s voice stops him.

“Leave him be, Mr. Potter. He’s having a vision.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hasn’t he told you? He’s riddled with his past more than the rest of us, I’d wager, mostly dreams. Or nightmares, rather. But when in the company of a practiced legilimens, he can see them even while awake.”

Harry will admit under pressure that he is not the most intelligent person around, but even then he has only had a very few times when he’s felt this lost.

Draco is still standing stock still with his eyes wide and staring at nothing in particular. Mrs. Hardwick is casually sipping tea as if she hasn’t just told Harry that Draco is currently reliving one of the many terrifying moments of his life.

He can’t help but stare at the lean figure still as a statue, with no life behind his eyes. He looks like a shell of a man, with loss and pain etched too deep to have healed in a mere four years.

Their entire generation has known more pain and hardship than any child has a right to. Harry knows he’s not the only one to have suffered at the hands of a power-crazed man, he’s nowhere as arrogant to think that, despite what Draco might say. Yet, sometimes Harry does forget that others have lost too, countless children their age lost parents or brother and sisters or even something as integral as their sanity, their reality after being hunted like prey by Death Eaters.

“Is he a Seer, then?”

He can’t seem to take his eyes off Draco, the way his features are twisted into a tortured look. _Gods, he’s painfully beautiful._

“No, I wouldn’t go so far, I don’t think he can see the future. It’s the past rather that haunts him.”

“We all have nightmares, though. I mean, everyone who was ever targeted by Voldemort does, so why is he any different?”

“You were all scared, that’s correct, but you were allowed to be scared; he was not. And you know what happens when we try to play God and control what’s only natural, Mr. Potter? We lose control.”

The very next moment, Draco gasps painfully and stumbles around to find balance but when Harry rushes forward to catch him he’s pushed away gently. He won’t meet Harry’s eyes but his body language makes it clear that he’s just woken up from the worst kind of nightmare.

“I’ll be right back.” 

He disappears out the main door and as much as Harry wants to go after him, he has a feeling that Draco needs to be alone and wouldn’t want Harry to follow him. So, he sits there drinking tea with Mrs. Hardwick.

“Does he have them often, then? Nightmares or visions or whatever?”

“I wouldn’t know that, all I know is that he’s burying a lot within him.”

When Draco returns, not even a hair is an inch out of place. He’s impeccable as always, as if the last five minutes never happened.

“Mrs. Hardwick, did you stab Mr. and Mrs. Ackers?”

Harry’s mind is absolutely reeling, he feels like everyone is a few steps ahead of him and he just can’t seem to catch up. A quidditch pitch comes to mind, he remembers feeling like this with a snitch just out of reach as he leaned forward on his broom, almost falling forward because he could feel the golden wings flapping near his fingers and if he just leaned forward a bit more--

“How did you know?”

 _Just beyond his reach_ , he thinks.

“Magical signature, I first thought it was your niece’s but the second I walked in the door, I could feel your magic and then I realized it must be you who killed them. It was done with one stab each, with a medical precision like a former healer.”

“Well done, Mr. Malfoy. I didn’t think anyone in the auror department would be able to trace magical signatures.”

“I didn’t know I could, to be honest.”

Mrs. Hardwick looks very weak suddenly, her hand slips off the armrest of the sofa and she almost falls forward but Draco darts to her side and catches her before she can fall. She takes Draco’s hand in hers and settles sideways on the sofa, almost laying down.

“I think it’s in your blood, dear.”

Draco pales at her words, and that’s saying something since he is quite possibly already the palest person in Britain. Harry doesn’t have the time to interrogate him right now, though.

“Are you confessing to the murders then, Mrs. Hardwick?”

“I suppose so, Mr. Potter. I knew that Jane Ackers and that husband of hers killed Timothy after they found out about Elizabeth, and they were going to come after her, so I did what I had to do. Do you mind if I speak to my husband and niece before you take me?”

“Have you ingested poison, Mrs. Hardwick?”

Harry freezes in shock at Draco’s words. He was worried that Mrs. Hardwick was having a stroke because of the shock of being caught or maybe a heart attack and he was going to apparte her to St. Mungo’s but the thought that she had poisoned herself had never entered his mind.

She simply nods her head at Draco.

Harry feels an abject sadness swelling inside his heart. From the looks of it, she doesn’t have a lot of time left.

Mrs. Hardwick looks at Harry and asks him to call Mr. Hardwick into the room. Her eyes are half-closed and her fingers have gone limp in Draco’s hand, who doesn’t look away from her even for a second. Harry wants to touch Draco’s shoulder, make sure he’s alright but he suspects that Mrs. Hardwick doesn’t have a lot of time left so he hurries out of the room.

When he gets back, Mr. Hardwick behind him, he finds Draco leaning in close to Mrs. Hardwick.

“--didn’t know what it meant to really love but he changed that. Oh, here he is, Bertie darling. Come here, love.”

Mr. Hardwick grips Draco’s shoulder to kneel next to him and offers his wife both his hands.

“My darling”, he whispers to his wife who smiles at him.

“Oh, Bertie”, her frail hands somehow find the strength to grip his like she’s drowning and he’s her only chance at survival. Harry has to look away, the intimacy of the gesture burns something bright and he can’t keep looking at the two of them without wanting to cry.

Draco pushes up to his feet and makes a move to leave but Mr. Hardwick calls after him to stay.

Draco looks just as surprised as Harry, not sure if they should be here intruding on such a private moment but he can’t very well deny Mr. Hardwick’s offer so they stand there in the corner of the room watching the scene unfold in front of them.

Mrs. Hardwick heaves in a long breath and forces her eyes open.

“My dearest Bertie, my time has come now. Yours has not.”

Mr. Hardwick takes in a deep breath, Harry can tell by his shaking shoulders that the man is crying.

Mrs. Hardwick doesn’t stop, “I want you to be as happy as you can be, with the rest of the time you have. You will always be my one true love, darling.”

Mr. Hardwick raises a hand to her face, caresses her cheek as she takes a labored breath before her eyes close and don’t open again. Mr. Hardwick’s hand is still caressing her cheek.

Harry can’t help but turn to Draco next to him.

Draco doesn’t look back at him even though he must feel Harry’s eyes on him. No, instead he keeps watching the old couple with something Harry doesn’t dare say is longing.

“But how can I be happy now?”

Harry can’t move, his body has locked up and he can’t make himself move. Mr. Hardwick is still kneeling next to his wife. His dead wife, Harry reminds himself.

In the end, it’s Draco who takes a step forward and puts his hands on Mr. Hardwick’s shoulders to help him stand up.

Draco is the one who helps Mr. Hardwick over to sit at the dining table with a glass of water in front of him.

Draco keeps a hand on Mr. Hardwick’s shoulder while he quietly sobs. It’s Draco who manages to call Mrs. Hardwick’s niece and tell her what’s happened, so she can come be with her uncle.

And it’s Draco who gently touches Harry’s elbow after Elizabeth Hardwick shows up, and leads him outside from the spot where Harry has been frozen for god knows how long.

Draco apparates them back to the Ministry into their shared office.

It isn’t until Harry has found a place to sit that Draco nods at him and leaves the room.

Harry wonders if he has gone home and finally let the events of today get to him. If he has finally given in to what he must be feeling after watching Mrs. Hardwick die and Mr. Hardwick heartbroken and lost.

If so, Harry wonders where Draco got the strength, because the boy he knew at Hogwarts could never have been so strong.

***

Harry tries, fruitlessly, to talk to Draco about the incident at Mrs. Hardwick’s house when Draco was apparently having a nightmare while standing up straight and fully awake.

He has his own nightmares and he knows for a fact that many others have them too, so it wasn’t a surprise that Draco has his own but what Mrs. Hardwick said about being allowed to be scared and watching Draco stand there frozen and unable to do anything, it’s made Harry realize just how much burden their generation is going to carry through their lives.

Anyway, he had tried and Draco had shut him down by telling him that he didn’t care to talk about it at all.

“That was the first time it happened while I was awake, it was a completely isolated incident that occurred solely because of a legilimens’ presence. Otherwise, I have nightmares like any normal survivor of a war.”

“But you lived in the same house as--”

“If you're done with your thorough analysis of why my life is shit, can we move on?”

Harry has no answer for him, which has more to do with the way Draco’s face becomes a blank mask than anything he can say. So, Harry drops it but it stays at the back of his mind. Maybe, he’ll ask Draco when the blond is drunk as that always makes him loose-tongued.

While they’re slumped over the furniture in their not-so dingy office, Kingsley shows up and tuts at the laziness of his employees. Draco gets up ramrod straight at the sight of the Minister but Harry struggles a bit, he hasn’t even had tea yet.

“Would you like me to get a bed in here, Harry?”

And then, for reasons completely different than what Kingsley intended, Harry’s up and out of the sofa like a chinese fire dragon is at his arse. Draco looks pleased with this development and so does Kingsley. As long as they don’t know his reasons, Harry thinks. 

“Since you don’t have a regular case to work on right now, I would like to assign you two to help out on an ongoing mission.”  

Harry tries and fails to not glance at Draco, as much as the git has denied any attempts to talk about what happened at Mrs. Hardwick’s cottage or even her death, Harry’s been worried. Harry had to spend a sleepless night because of witnessing yet another death when he’s already seen a lifetime of it, so it’s only natural that he’s concerned about his partner’s well-being.

Before he can voice any protests though, Draco steps up closer to Kingsley.

“What is this ongoing mission about?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple really. The DMLE is cleaning out about a dozen of their undercover report bases after an informant was found out. They’re concerned that these places are not safe anymore but would like to make sure there’s no dark magic lurking about before returning them to the public.”

Okay, that doesn’t sound like stressful auror work. No chance they’ll have to witness another death while checking out old DMLE bases. Plus, they’ll get out of this office and be outside.

 _Outside._ Harry feels his own eyes widen as if he’s a prisoner being allowed to see the outside world. He’s a bit dramatic sometimes, he’ll admit.

“We’ll do it!”

“Excellent, the ones you can do are some of the last ones left. I’ll have someone send a memo with the addresses.

Kingsley disappears with a swish of his robes and Harry rushes out right after the Minister, before Draco can even start on him.

***

Hermione asks for another consultation and Draco agrees to it if they can meet outside. It’s supposed to be a very warm day and Draco is by far the most cold-fearing person Harry has ever met.

The git actually needs the office window shut at all times, the few times Harry tries to keep it open when his partner is distracted, he’ll look up to find Draco actually shivering as if he’s standing shirtless in a snowstorm rather than being indoors with just a little draft of air coming through the window.

And the one time Harry had had to take an emergency shower in Draco’s flat, he had screamed in pain as boiling hot water had sprayed on his naked skin and burnt him. 

“What’s happened?” 

Between pulling a towel to cover his important bits and the hot water still burning his feet on the hot floor, he had cursed up a storm as a wide-eyed Draco had just stood there in shock.

“Are you fucking mental, you cold blooded bastard? That’s boiling water in the shower, how have you not melted your fucking skin off?”

“You can just twist that knob and turn it cold. I can’t stand cold water and seeing as how this is my flat and my shower, I will hardly change anything to accommodate you.”

He’d disappeared in a hurry, and only then Harry had realized that his towel may have slipped a little bit to reveal a trail of dark hair down his stomach. The heat on his cheeks had nothing to do with the boiling water anymore.

Later, he’d cackled in joy when Draco had loudly yelped during his turn in the shower. The following shitstorm had involved incessant cursing on Draco’s part while Harry sat on the sofa petting Abraxas and smiling, imagining a very wet and cold Draco having a taste of his own medicine. But, that line of thinking had left Harry in a very awkward position and very tight trousers all of a sudden.

Anyway, Draco likes warmth and probably loves sunlight more than he does anything else.

They get to the little restaurant Hermione had told them about and find her already sitting at a table away from the shade. Harry jumps in his chair when he sits without checking and almost burns his arse-cheeks because the black chair has absorbed so much heat.

Draco, the cold blooded bastard, sighs when he sits down. 

It’s pretty much a repeat of the last time except this time Harry gets to offer his experience since he worked a very similiar case back in Paris. Just as he’s listing the main reasons why they had decided to let the International Union for Care of Magical Creatures take care of the case, all of a sudden he feels fingers carding through his hair. 

The sensation is so relaxing and yet so erotic that he almost trails off and moans. Hermione’s eyes boring into his make him snap to the present and thankfully, he doesn’t make any embarrassing sounds.

***

It’s really nice to be outside, the sun is hitting Draco just right and he feels warmth settling over his skin. He remembers his mother always covering him in a barrage of sun protection charms so he won’t ruin his pearly complexion or burn himself. He takes a deep breath and spreads his fingers on the table, and watches as sunlight plays on them. 

Hermione is saying something about a new treaty with merpeople and Harry seems to be very involved in the conversation, he’s relaying something about a similar situation in his old job and Draco has to stop himself from clenching his fists at the mention of France. It’s a constant reminder that this routine he has with Harry is very temporary and the Golden Boy could pack up any day and go back to his real life. Then, Draco would be back to working alone and only having Abraxas to rant to. 

He forces himself to stop thinking such morbid thoughts. Being around Gryffindors is really messing with his emotional range, he’s gone from being a champion denier to someone who has inner monologues about emotions and feelings. 

Harry’s hand goes up to fiddle with his hair, he’s pulling at the strands subconsciously as he lists off whatever it is that Granger’s asked of him. Draco tries to look away from the restless fingers, and when Harry does pull his hand away there’s a whole chunk of his hair standing up in an awkward way and that is a perfect example of why Harry’s hair always looks like a bird’s nest.

Before Draco realizes what he’s doing, his own fingers are running through Harry’s dark hair trying to get it to behave. It isn’t until he’s already doing it that he realizes how soft the hair is or how both Harry and Granger have stopped in surprise at the familiarity of the action.

Hoping to avoid an awkward situation, Draco combs his fingers through the strands once more without looking at either Harry or Hermione, and then withdraws his hand as if he never lifted it in the first place. He can feel Harry’s eyes on him the rest of the time.

***

When Draco excuses himself by citing an old friend he’s meeting for lunch, Harry almost tells Hermione he has to go too. He really doesn’t want a repeat of last time, especially since she was right and he does fancy Draco.

His thoughts stutter to a stop when he registers the possibility that if Hermione could tell that early on what even he couldn’t see then surely she’s noticed the way things have changed between now and then. What if she says something Harry hasn’t let himself think about-- 

“You don’t just fancy him, there’s more. Isn’t there?”

He tries to deny it and shake his head like he can’t even believe she’s thinking this but it’s clear she has made up her mind. 

“Hermione--”

“You have a type, a blind witch could probably see that. All your past relationships have been bloody tall, blonde, thin as fuck and with a sharp tongue. Remind you of anyone?”

As much as he’s shocked at her language sounding suspiciously like Ron’s with the swear words littering that sentence, he has more important things to worry about. Namely, what she’s just said and how much sense it makes.

“No.”

“Really, Harry? I know you’re not this naive--” 

“You sound like him.”

“Sorry?”

“Draco, he said I’m the most unobservant person ever.”

“Well, he’s not wrong.” 

“Wow, thanks for the support, Hermione!” 

She just rolls her eyes and mutters something that sounds like ‘stupid boys’ and then disappears with a loud pop of apparition.

He sits there thinking of all the people he’s been attracted to and wanting to hit his head on a wall repeatedly because how in Merlin’s name did he not see that pattern? How did he never realize that anyone he’s ever been attracted to has been some combination of the traits that make up Draco sodding Malfoy?

 _He is the most unobservant person ever_.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The murders in this are inspired by an episode of Midsomer Murders. While watching the episode, especially the scenes of Mrs. Hardwick's death, I wanted to write something similar. Voila! 
> 
> The response to the last two chapters has been amazing, it really does keep me going. So, let me know what you guys think!


	9. People fall in love in mysterious ways, maybe just the touch of a hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little different from the rest: it's short and the tone of this chapter is very different than the rest of the fic so I wanted to post this as a separate thing. Hope you like it!

After two days of tedious magic tracking spells performed in the DMLE bases, Harry is very glad to get a day off. He thinks about playing quidditch and wonders if Draco might be interested.

“I’m going to see Mother tomorrow, for the weekly lunch with her.”

A hint of sadness is apparent in Draco’s eyes and Harry knows it’s a privilege that the blond is showing it to him. So, he simply nods and wishes him a good night.

On Monday, Draco drops a package on Harry’s desk without a word and then goes to sit behind his own. He doesn’t look up even when he must feel Harry watching him from across the room.

Curiosity gets the better of him so he hands the package and rips at the wrapping paper, ignoring the judging _tsk_ coming from across the room.

It’s a cake.

It’s a huge, three-tier cake that appears out of the sleek package Draco must’ve charmed to shrink. And now Harry is staring at a three-tier cake that looks more lavish and delicious than any cake he’s ever seen.

When he looks up to ask Draco what’s happening, all he gets is a bored, “Well, go on then, try it.”

Hesitantly, Harry pokes an experimental finger into the white cream on the bottom tier and licks it off. Draco’s eyes are staring right at him and Harry feels a flush of heat on the back of his neck when he realizes how sexual the gesture must look, and his eyes flicker away and down to the cake.

“This is bloody brilliant!”

“I’m sure Maxy will be very happy to hear that. She’s my mother’s elf, the only one left at the Manor.”

Harry is so tempted to taste the dark brown cream on the top tier and Draco’s eyes watching him with mirth in them are a clear indication that the git knows just how tempting the cake looks. So, Harry does it.

The creamy chocolate melts on his tongue in the most delicious way, he’s tempted to just eat the entire cake right here and now. The chocolate-y aftertaste in his mouth is unlike anything else he’s ever known.

“Gods, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted!”

Draco’s lips part in a wide smile, not the polite, in-company smile but the real one with shining eyes, crinkles and sharp teeth.

“Can I just ask why you’ve brought me cake?”

“Would you like me to take it back?”

He almost puts his arms around the cake and ruins his robes before he realizes what he was about to do. Draco obviously is enjoying himself too much, and Harry can only frown at him because this is such an unexpected start to a day.

“You said something about never having had a proper birthday cake. Maxy has always made mine for me, and she is the best so while visiting Mother, I asked her if she’d mind terribly to make one for a friend.”

He’s said it so casually, like it’s something Harry’s heard a million times.

Draco’s just mentioned it in passing like it doesn’t mean much, that past that still defines Harry as a person and always will. That past that’s left him with nightmares he can’t blame on a Dark Lord. Those fears he can’t blame on a war.

He musn’t realize just how many times Harry catches himself swallowing food without chewing properly as a shadow of that past, those times he laid sleepless in that dark cupboard with a growling stomach and tears falling down his face, begging his dead parents to come and save him.

He must not realize just how much this means to Harry. He must have no idea about the storm that’s suddenly brewing inside Harry, such is the swirl of emotions he’s been burying that he thinks he’s going to be sick.

_Merlin, who is this man sitting in front of him?_

All he can manage is a quiet “Thank you.”

***

Turns out, one of the DMLE bases they’re supposed to be cleaning out is a traditional dance hall that’s been closed for decades. For some reason, the Ministry had decided to make the hall into decoy debriefing headquarters. It has a somewhat vintage feel to it, almost like they’ve travelled back in time with a time-turner.

Draco is looking around curiously, trying to find any traces of magic while Harry looks around the magnificent hall rather bored, now that the novelty of time-travelling has passed.

Eyes glancing back to see what Draco’s up to, he almost walks into a cupboard along the far wall of the hall. Just as his fingers wrap around the handle of the cupboard door, a slow rhythm starts playing loudly and he jumps back in surprise. From the corner of his eye, he can see Draco having a similar reaction. 

“How do you always manage to muck about?” 

The blond looks mildly annoyed by the music interrupting the silence but Harry can also see the subtle way his fingers move against his thigh, in tune with the song. Without thinking too much of it, Harry walks toward Draco and takes his hand to pull him forwards till he slams into Harry’s chest with a startled yelp.

Harry twirls Draco and then pulls him close, can feel the heat of his body seeping through the layers of their clothes and god, it’s intoxicating. The way Draco’s long fingers wrap around Harry’s hand, it’s obscene but beautiful all the same.

He remembers dancing like this with Hermione, when they were hiding for their lives in that tent in the middle of nowhere. When they had been so close to losing their minds because of all the loneliness and the misery, he had pulled Hermione close and twirled her around like this. She hadn’t wanted to do it, her face was like a mirror into her soul - full of misery. But Harry hadn’t let go of her hand when she’d tried to pull it away, he had held on and after a while she’d started laughing and moving, bumping into him and being just as clumsy.

He feels that same sense of happiness settling in his gut now, but one look at the pale fingers wrapped around his and the tiniest bit of contact with Draco’s body and Harry feels a jolt of electricity flow through him that he definitely hadn’t felt then.

They’re not doing it right, not even close, but it doesn’t even matter. Draco is frowning just a little like he wants to do it right but he’s also smiling - trying to hide it but his lips won’t stop giving him away - like he knows this is silly but he keeps up the lazy movements.

There’s a little spike in the music and Harry moves to dip Draco down over his leg but he’s a second too late and Draco is taller than him so it’s a bit tricky but they manage to pull it off. When Harry pulls him up though, Draco pushes him away with a hand on his chest. Harry offers his hand again and Draco takes it again.

They move around in quiet harmony, feet shuffling to the slow tune carelessly and in the last few moments before the sun goes down, Harry feels like his whole world has shrunk down to the music and the man in his arms. There isn’t a thing he wants from life, outside of this.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See what I meant by a different tone? I do hope this was just as enjoyable to read, though.


	10. Take me by the tongue and I'll know you, kiss me till you're drunk and I'll show you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to remind everyone that this fic is a slow-burn, and was tagged as a slow-burn from the very beginning so they are not going to get together this chapter or the next. I'm not saying there isn't a kiss or they don't get closer, I'm saying they don't get over their shit for a while yet.
> 
> Having said that, it's my understanding that some of you would like a bit of smut. And so, I wrote a little one-off which is the most explicit smut I've ever written so proceed with caution. It's called 'You and I go hard at each other like we're going to war'. Let me know what you think!
> 
> PS - Clearly, I'm in an Adam Levine phase today.

The next case they get called in for is a mugging gone wrong, they say.

An alley in East Wizarding London has been closed off by the DMLE and officer Troy is once again waiting for them at the scene. Harry is a bit puzzled about why they’ve been called in to what must be a simple open and shut case but it becomes clear when one of the aurors walks up to them and asks if Draco would mind talking to him.

The second his partner nods, the auror flips open a leather bound notebook as if Draco is a suspect or a witness, “Do you know anyone named Daniel Maxime?”

Harry finds himself looking at the auror to see if he can find out why the man is so interested in asking Draco questions.

“No.”

The tall, silver-haired auror narrows his eyes at Draco and seems to ponder over his next words, “We found a parchment with your floo address in the wallet of the victim.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Draco standing stiffly, his voice breaks over his next question, “Victim?”

“He’s the bloke that’s been stabbed. He died on the spot.” 

Purely on instinct, Harry darts forward and catches Draco as his knees give out and he falls forward. Harry is holding him up, Draco’s full weight is on him at this point and it’s such a break from his characteristic behaviour that Harry can’t help but be worried sick at seeing his partner lose control like this.

“Oh Merlin, it can’t be! He was only eighteen.”

The auror steps closer in interest, “So, you did know him?”

Harry wants to tell the auror to open his eyes and see that Draco’s in no state to answer questions right now but the angry retort dies on his lips when Draco pulls away from him and straightens up to his full height looking like Lucius Malfoy in his proud stance, as if he didn’t just almost fall to the ground two seconds ago.

“I--yes. We had a brief sexual encounter.” 

And just like that, it’s Harry whose knees almost buckle. He catches himself before anyone can notice, Draco is busy talking to the auror anyway.

“How brief?”

“One night. I made him leave after I realized how young he was. He wanted to be an auror.”

The tenderness in Draco’s voice as he remembers the dead boy is lost neither on Harry nor the auror. It’s clear that Draco was very fond of the dead boy, his eyes are darting all over the ground as if he’s scared that tears will show if he keeps looking at the same thing for too long.

“That would explain why he ran after the thief into this alley.”

“Daniel, you idiot, got yourself killed over a cheap dream!”

“Mr. Malfoy, you don’t have to assist on this case. You can--”

“I want to.”

Harry wants to say something, doesn’t know what but he does want to offer Draco any help he needs except his mouth has stopped working and his brain won’t form any words.

After a terse silence, the auror sighs in resignation. Must be Draco’s face and his unwavering stubbornness, “Right, well. We’ll send you a copy of the witness statements and anything the medi-wizards find.”

“Thank you.” 

“It’s not a problem. There isn’t anything that needs to be done here for now. My condolences on the loss, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco nods his head silently and watches the auror walk back toward the closed-off alley. He stands where he is for a moment before turning to find Harry’s eyes.

“He was such a bloody gryffindor. Got him killed in the end!”

Harry has so many questions, so many things he wants to ask but he knows very well how grief works so he just offers a tight smile and a soft, "I’m sorry".

Draco silently takes his arm and apparates them to the Great Lake. Harry wants to point out that they shouldn’t be here so soon after being almost caught and they should be working on the case anyway but the look on Draco’s face stops him.

They sit in exactly the same place but without the darkness of the night and the full moon, it looks like an entirely different scene. The castle is standing tall and proud in the evening sun and Harry finally understands why Draco likes coming here despite all the memories it must bring.

He doesn’t say anything, waiting for Draco to speak if he needs to share something. After five minutes of silence, Draco sighs and turns to face him with a somber expression.

“He was a mate, one I didn’t see very often but he was one of the few people I could be myself around.” 

Harry tries his best to keep the curiosity out of his voice, “Did you know him a long time?” 

“Not really, I met him last year in a club. At the time, I didn’t realize how young he was and that’s why I took him home. Once I knew, I made him leave. He was in his seventh year at Hogwarts but he lied about his age. I saw him again a month or so later and we went for a pint as mates. He reminded me of you, actually. With his Gryffindor spirit and his enthusiasm, he was so excited to become an auror.” 

Harry’s not sure what he should say or if he even should say anything. 

It makes him a shite friend but all he can think about right now is that Draco went home with a boy so he has to be interested in men. Then comes a gnawing sensation in his chest with the realization that it was someone else Draco went home with.

It’s not like Harry didn’t know that Draco has been with people but having it made so glaringly obvious is making his head hurt with just how much it bothers him. And just how many different emotions he feels right now, lying next to the man he’s been struggling not to fall for.

“Does it bother you?”

With a start, he realizes he’s been watching Draco and now he’s been caught. 

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, does it bother you? That I was involved with a man?”

“I--”

“Because if it does then I don’t think we should work together. Neville and Weasley both know already, it’s not something I hide and neither have any intention to.”

Stormy grey eyes stare at him with staggering intensity and Harry finds himself stumbling over his thoughts and words.

“No, I--it’s not--I am, well I think I might be too.”

A single blond eyebrow rises in half question and half disbelief, Harry can feel heat climbing up his neck and face at an alarming rate.

“The Golden Boy is bent? What about the Weaslette and Chang from fourth year? Don’t tell me you were stringing those poor girls along!”

He has no idea how this conversation shifted from a dead bloke to Harry’s very very complicated and confusing sexuality, but he can’t let Draco think that he tricked anyone. He wasn't taking advantage of anyone, of course not.

“No, I did fancy them. I’m not bent, I’m--well, I’m not sure yet.”

“As long as you don’t wrinkle your nose at a bloke I fancy.”

He bites his tongue from saying the wrong thing because surely anything he says in response to that will be the wrong thing. He can’t very well admit that he will most definitely wrinkle his nose at any bloke Draco fancies, not because of some bias or hatred but rather something much more personal.

They stay there for a bit longer before Draco stands up and shakes grass off his robes and offers his arm to Harry. Back at the office, a file from the DMLE is waiting for them.

***

On Sunday, while trying to buy a new broom from Quality Quidditch Supplies on Diagon, he runs into Luna. She smiles at him in that way she does, that makes you feel at peace with yourself for a quiet moment.

“I had heard from Neville that you were back, Harry. It’s very nice to see you.”

He offers to treat her to lunch and she happily accepts. It’s a nice day out, it’s sunny for once in Britain and they find a table outside in the shade. English people.

“This is the place where I first met Draco after the war when he was coming to see Neville.”

Harry finds himself brimming with curiosity about how that came about, but it’s rude to latch onto that when he hasn’t even asked Luna how she is or what’s happening in her life.

“Oh, I’m alright, Harry. The nargles are really persistent during the colder months with all the mistletoe around but Rolf found a new antidote to repel them.”

“That’s good. So, are you in touch with everyone else then?”  

“I try, but we are all so busy with our lives that sometimes it’s hard to find a good time to meet up. Neville is the one that usually makes plans, he says he’s bored at Hogwarts so he needs to see us all regularly. We've missed you, Harry.”

“I’ve missed you too, Luna. It’s just that I was busy with work and also--”

“You don’t have to explain to me, Harry. I know you needed your distance, there’s nothing wrong with that. I just hope that you can put the past behind you some day, it’s a horrible burden to carry.”

He just nods at her. Even after all these years, Luna can say the most astonishing things in the simplest of ways, and Harry is so glad that he’s run into her.

“Thanks, Luna.” 

“Oh, no problem. You know who else struggles with their past? Draco.” 

He tries to keep his face neutral, to not show every single emotions he’s feeling and trying not to feel about the pointy git, but like always Luna sees things others are blind to.

“It’s okay, Harry.”

In a desperate attempt to change the conversation before he reveals something he can’t take back, he asks her about her friendship with Draco, “So did he ever apologize to you?”

“Not for the war, no. But that’s because I told him I didn’t hold him responsible for his actions when he didn’t have a choice. He said he owed me a debt for the crimes committed by his family against my person but I made it clear that it wasn’t his fault, I don’t think.

He did say he regretted the way he treated me at Hogwarts and that he would make it up to me. I offered to decorate his flat when he first bought it, you should’ve seen his face, Harry. He looked like I had asked if I could cut off his precious hair. He very politely declined my offer but we’ve stayed close.”

He nods at her, curious as to just how close they’ve stayed. It’s not jealousy, he knows, it’s curiosity because no one once mentioned that Draco Malfoy was suddenly everyone’s favourite Slytherin while he was gone.

“He does feel poorly about the things that happened during the war, but then I suppose you already know that.” 

He starts at her words, has she really seen right through him in ten minutes? 

“How do you mean--why do you suppose that?”

“I know how everyone loved to call me names, Harry, but I never minded because I always knew I was a bit odd for people. Doesn’t mean I don’t see things or understand them--”

“Luna, I never meant to imply that you--”

“It’s okay, Harry. I’ll leave you to think through your thoughts about Draco, it’s better if you work it out on your own. Now, how’s Rosie? I haven’t had time to see her in awhile.”

And when his god daughter is brought up, even the Golden Boy can’t help but be reduced to rambling and just pure fondness. Out of the blue, Luna tells him she’s going to ask Rolf to marry her someday soon.

“When I feel like the universe wants it, maybe a week from now or maybe tonight.”

He wishes her luck and promises her they’ll get together with the others soon before parting ways and apparating back to Diagon and finally going into QQ Supplies for a wretched broom.

***

Abraxas has somehow sensed that Draco is upset, he won’t leave Draco’s side when normally Draco can’t even convince the bastard to sit on the same sofa as him.

It’s a small comfort, he thinks.

He hasn’t shared it anyone else. Neville knows about Daniel because he’d seen Draco with the boy once and come over to their table as he recognized Daniel from Hogwarts. A very awkward conversation later, Nev had promised Draco they’ll have a chat later and walked away with Daniel in tow.

That chat never came because Daniel had told Neville that he and Draco were mates and that they saw each other often in a platonic way. Which wasn’t untrue, it just wasn’t the whole truth.

Either way, the three of them had gone out once or twice. It was a bit stilted since Neville was technically Daniel’s teacher even though the Gryffindor hadn’t taken herbology. Oh well, they’d had a good lads night out.

And now Daniel is dead.

Draco takes another gulp from his bottle of expensive wine from Lucius Malfoy’s ‘pride and joy’ cellar. He realizes that he’s been drinking a lot more in the last few months but it feels like his life was static for years and now it is crackling with energy. And if this coincides with Harry Potter coming into his life, then that’s just a coincidence.

So, he drinks himself into a troubled sleep where he dreams of a much older Daniel in auror robes. And when he wakes up on Monday morning, he’s promised himself that instead of letting the tragedy get him down, he’s going to concentrate on getting whoever killed Daniel and making sure they pay for it.

That’s how he ends up in the office, sorting through the DMLE file for the fourth time with his thoughts racing and stumbling into each other with enough force that he doesn’t even realize he’s humming under his breath.

***

“Take me down to Paradise City, where the grass is green and the boys are pretty, oh won’t you please take me home?”

“I believe it’s ‘where the _girls_ are pretty’.” 

Draco flinches so hard he knocks his elbow into the door and is currently glaring at Harry while hugging his arm close to his chest.

“Sorry, I just--I didn’t know you sang. And a muggle song, no less.”

It’s just that Harry was expecting Draco to be grieving and sad and dejected, especially after he spent the weekend thinking that the git would probably not share the news with anyone and just stay in his flat alone with Abraxas and deny the sorrow.

So, of course Harry had been ready for a hard day as he would have to bear the brunt of Draco’s foul mood. The last thing he expected was Draco singing a muggle song.

“Music isn’t bound by magic, even I know that.”

Okay, he’s as touchy as he normally is, no more than usual. Which is a good sign, maybe he just needs normalcy to deal with his mate’s death. So, banter.

“Yes, but Guns n Roses? Really?

“Oh, don’t tell me my taste in music is not sophisticated enough for you.”

“I’m just saying out of all the bands and all the songs, you went for the most cliche rock song.” 

“I will not be judged by you, Potter. About anything.” 

Trying in vain to hide his smile, Harry walks further into the room. He knows Draco has caught his smile and the git looks so smug at having insulted Harry and made him smile all at once.

“Do you know the full song?”

“I might.”

“Do you sing often?”

“Are you interrogating me?”

“No, I just thought--”

“We are never speaking of this again.”

“But I--”

“Never, Potter.”

And then he just picks up a teacup from somewhere and walks out of the room leaving Harry to wonder if that actually happened or if his overactive imagination conjured up a scenario where Draco Malfoy would hum Paradise City under his breath while preoccupied with reading something.

***

The DMLE haven’t found anything helpful about Daniel’s death and it’s a constant itch under Draco’s skin.

He had had the pleasure or displeasure rather of meeting the poor boy’s mother who had the reddest eyes Draco’s ever seen. Apparently, Daniel had mentioned their friendship to his mother in passing but thankfully not the other thing.

She was just happy to sit with Draco and talk about her son for ten minutes. Of course, he had obliged and sat there listening. It was sadness he felt, but more than that, helplessness. As someone who works for the Ministry, he should be able to do something to bring justice to the poor boy’s family.

And with this immense pressure, he spends Friday poring over the Patrol reports trying to see if someone’s missed anything since the DMLE is full of under-trained and over-worked buggers.

He can see Harry tip-toeing around him like he’s waiting for Draco to explode. It gets annoying when all the idiot does is grin at Draco like a patient at the _Janus-Thickey_ ward.

“Are you on something, Potter?” 

His eyes widen like he’s been caught smoking mallowsweet, Draco could really do without the blushing maiden act today.

Finally, when everyone’s in a hurry to go home for the weekend, Draco gets up and starts organizing the papers to take home with him. Maybe, if he goes over them again he’ll find something. The 17th time is the lucky one, they say.

“Why are you packing up that file?” 

“Excuse me?”

“We’re going to the pub, don’t tell me you’re going to bring that file with you.”

“ _We_ are not going anywhere. You can go do whatever you want, I’m going home.”

“Draacooo!”

“Are you a child, Potter?”

“Noooo--”

“You sound like a four year old.”

“Come on, let’s go to the pub. It’s been a shite week.” 

“That it has but--”

“Please?”

And there’s that stupid lip sticking out in a pout and sparkling green eyes staring at him. The _Daily Prophet_ should do a spread on how childish and manipulative the Boy-Who-Lived is.

“Fine.”

“I’ll go find Ron!”

He doesn’t get a word in before the idiot is storming out of the room with his robes flailing behind him. With a sigh, Draco casts a  _Reducio_ on the file and drops it in his robes’ pocket.

Truth be told, he could use a few hours of distraction and foolery with stupid Gryffindors. And he hasn’t missed the worried glances Harry keeps shooting him when he thinks Draco’s not looking.

He really wants to look the idiot straight in the eye and ask him if he knows peripheral vision is a thing that exists.

Something he won’t admit unless he’s been plied with _Veritaserum_ is that it’s nice having someone worrying for him, knowing that someone cares if he’s alright. And something he’ll never admit until he’s well settled into his grave is that it’s flattering that the Savior of the Wizarding World is doing the worrying.

***

Harry finds Ron asleep at his desk, he’s snoring loudly enough that he can be heard in the hall.

Some things never change, he thinks, with a fond smile just before he pulls Ron’s chair away from the desk and the redhead almost lands on the floor with a decidedly girly squeal.

After a bit of apologising and a mention of pints, Ron comes around and stops glaring at Harry. He looks as ready to get pissed as Harry feels and his partner is happy to see Harry dragging away the source of incredibly loud snores.

“‘s just you and me?”

“No, Draco’s coming too but I don’t know about Neville.”

Ron nods his head but doesn’t offer any information about whether Nev is coming or not.

“Draco’s been really worried over this case we got called in for, it was his mate that got stabbed.”

“I heard about it, terrible business.”

“Yeah, poor sod. And Draco’s been licking the file basically, he’s put Hermione to shame, would you believe it?”

They get out of the lift and start walking toward the floo network in the atrium, Draco is standing next to the farthest, looking bored. Harry’s about to wave to him when he feels a hand wrap around his forearm. He looks up to find Ron watching him with what Harry knows to be his determined face.

“Harry, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise you won’t get angry, mate?”

“Why? Should I?”

“No, I just—I want to know.”

“What is it, Ron?”

“Are you—is there--is there something going on with you and Malfoy?”

“What? Why would you even—I don’t—what? Ron!”

Several people turn around in surprise at his exclamations and Harry most certainly doesn’t want anyone to hear this conversation so he pulls on Ron’s sleeve to get him to the side a little bit, away from the throng of people hurrying to get home.

“It’s just—you seem very—I don’t know.”

“I seem very what, Ron?”

“You just have this look on your face sometimes when he’s around and—“

“No. You’re mistaken, I’m not anything about Malfoy.”

“Okay”, and he just walks away toward where Draco is waiting for them with raised eyebrows and Harry rushes to catch up with Ron before he says something stupid right in front of Draco.

He feels his cheeks heating all the way through the floo and even when they get seated at the bar. He can’t get Ron’s words out of his mind, and the firewhiskey is not helping at all.

***

When Harry tells Draco how Ron was snoring at his desk and the squealing sound he made when Harry pulled his chair, the blond has no qualms about teasing Ron unlike Harry. With a wicked smile, Harry thinks that’s exactly what he was hoping for.

“I can just imagine Weasley screaming like a girl, with that giant body of his.”

Harry just sits there grinning like an idiot. If someone had told twelve-year old Harry he’d be telling Draco Malfoy things about Ron so the git can take the piss out of his mate, he’d have referred them to Madam Pomfrey.

“Oh, that is rich coming from you, Malfoy!”

“Why’s that, Weasley?”

Harry spies a hint of hesitation in Ron’s manner and for the first time that night, he’s worried he shouldn’t have told Draco.

“Well, you're rather feminine, aren’t you?”

Yup, definitely regretting it if the way Draco’s eyes narrow is any indication how this conversation is going to go.

“First, what makes you say that? Second, why did you say that like it's something to be ashamed of?"

“I didn't.”

“You wrinkled your nose which is a definite sign of disgust. And you haven't answered why you think so.”

“I'm not disgusted.”

“Okay. Why do you think so?"

“You're a man.”

“ _Yeees?_ ”

He says it in that slow I’m-talking-to-an-idiot voice that Severus Snape may well have invented. Harry’s confused between whether to laugh or chew his nails off in fear of what’s coming.

“But you have rather long hair and you put it in a bun sometimes--”

Ron's face is getting redder by the second while Draco just stands there with a blank face which bears a striking resemblance to Snape when he was impatiently waiting for an explanation. Harry feels a shudder run down his spine at the memory, all those times that look was directed at him.

“And you wear perfectly tailored robes in weirdly intriguing and flattering colours.”

Ron is certainly hyperventilating, Harry can hear his laboured breaths but Draco doesn't move an inch. He's still watching Ron with a hawk like precision. Harry does not envy Ron one bit in that instant.

“--it's just-- you have really clean nails!”

Ron almost chokes on his own words and finally, Draco shows some mercy because he hums quietly.

“So because I know how to dress myself and I am hygienic, that makes me feminine?”

“It's not hygiene, they're weirdly neat and tidy.”

“Right.” Draco crosses his arms across his chest and waits for Ron to dig himself a deeper grave.

“And you just--you have really defined features.”

"Been looking at my face a lot, have you?"

“N-no!"

"That was about as convincing as Harry saying he combs his hair everyday."

"Oi! What have I done?"

"Besides nodding along to Weasley's childish claims, you mean?"

"You do have really clean nails. And your robes are practically sewn around you. And you have pretty features."

Ron makes another choking sound except this time it turns into a coughing fit and Harry can see him flailing about and coughing in the background, but his sole focus is on Draco right now. It's like everything else has faded in comparison, and Draco is standing there in sharp focus looking straight at Harry with his piercing grey eyes. Harry can't move.

***

The night progresses with Harry gulping alcohol like it’s the _Elixir of Life_. Neville never showed so it’s just the three of them. Well, Ron and Draco are busy talking about quidditch or something and they’ve left Harry alone since apparently he can’t contribute anything to their very important conversation.

So, he’s been entertaining himself.

_What a marvelous plan._

He looks around expecting to see Snape but obviously he isn’t there. Merlin, he’s properly tanked if he’s hearing Snape’s voice in his head.

Shaking away thoughts of his almost-boggart, Harry pushes away the empty pint glass. Next to him, Harry and Draco are still arguing over the talent of the Chudley Cannons. A flash of something intense crosses those silver eyes when Ron mentions the Slytherin house team and Harry gets thrown back about an hour when Draco had looked at him with a piercing gaze. 

It shouldn’t feel like this, he’s sure. Wanting someone has never felt like this, like he’s drowning and no one can see him thrashing around, no one will extend a hand to save him. 

Draco doesn’t linger when they touch, his face doesn’t betray a single emotion when they’re close and Harry is slowly drowning in his own _want_ and _need_. He’s not even sure it’s lust anymore, it doesn’t feel like a craving that can be undone by just a touch. It feels like he needs a lifetime of Draco to even make breathing bearable.

And he really isn’t sure how he’s held off for so long, when Draco has been around him so close, so so close that he could just reach out and—

“Harry?”

Apparently, he has reached out and touched Draco’s arm, startling him out of the conversation he was having with Ron. Harry can’t help but trail his fingers down the veins on Draco’s forearm, blue lines a sharp contrast against his pale skin. He can see Draco’s eyes widen at the touch and his lips have parted like he’s holding his breath and Harry just wants to take that leap and finally feel those lips against his own when—

“Uh, Malfoy?”

Draco springs back like he’s been burnt, his arm pulled away from Harry’s touch and cradled to that lean chest. Without even a word of acknowledgment, Draco turns around to face Ron. His blatant ignoring leaves Harry seething, why the fuck is Draco paying attention to someone else when Harry’s right there and— _well, he’ll just have to try harder, won’t he?_

Waving to the bartender for another pint, he turns to face the seat beside him. Draco’s profile is visible from this angle, his sharp features appear even sharper this way and Harry really wants to touch. But they’re in public so he tamps that urge down and rather chooses to lean forward till he can whisper in Draco’s ear, “You’re beautiful.”

He can feel more than see the tremble of Draco’s body when he hears those words, it’s like he’s shivering in the cold, before his back straightens and he sits taut like a pulled crossbow. Without even turning to face Harry, he excuses himself from the conversation and stands up. Harry is surprised at the sound of the stool clattering to the floor when the very next second, he feels a tight grip on his wrist and looks down to find pale fingers wrapped around his skin and he’s being pulled outside.

“What the fuck are you doing, Potter?” 

Ignoring the shudder he feels running down his spine at Draco standing so close, Harry leans in so there’s only a hair’s breadth between their mouths and he can feel Draco’s sharp intake of breath against his lips before he speaks, “You. Are. Beautiful.”

Draco’s eyes flutter closed and his tongue peeks out from between red red lips before he seems to think better of it and bites down on his lower lip instead. Harry is dying to dart forward and capture that lip in his own teeth and bite and lick—

“And you are completely plastered.” 

“I am.”

Draco takes a slow breath but at least he isn’t pulling back, Harry doesn’t dare move even an inch and disturb this moment.

“You should go home.”

“I don’t want to.”

“What _do_ you want?”

“You.”

There’s that shudder again, Draco almost sways on his feet like he can’t hold himself up and his knees will give out any second. Harry can understand exactly how he feels. As if on cue, his balance leaves him staggering and holding on to the man in front of him. When he finds his balance again and looks up into grey eyes, they’re distant. There isn’t that heat from a second ago there anymore.

“You should go home, Harr—“

“No, I—“

“You don’t know what you’re doing and I won’t be anyone’s experiment, Golden Boy or not.”

“But, Draco—“

“No. You will go to your hotel and we will never talk about this again. If you even remember, that is.”

“Of course, I will remember. I want you—“

“No, you don’t. It’s the whiskey and you want a quick shag but I will not be your test subject—“

“It’s not that, I swear. I want—“

“You are not bent, Potter. I am. There’s only one way this can end and I’m not going to put myself through that.”

“Why won’t you listen to me? I really do want—“

“I don’t want this.”

And well, what can he say to that? Allowing himself a moment longer to just look at Draco from this close, to remember the exact shade of grey his eyes are and the way his breath feels when it hits Harry’s cheeks, he steps away.

“Right, well. Good night, then.”

He doesn’t wait around to see if Draco replies.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me how I did. Go on, then.


	11. Will I ever be enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was so happy to hear that I'm not the only one who loves the pain of angst. Guess what? Here's a bit more.

He gets home to a dark flat and finds Abraxas asleep on top of his new robes that he’d forgotten to hang up in the wardrobe. And now they will be covered in cat fur.

“Very comfortable, is it?”

The bastard just stares at him, looking like a ruffled old man angry at being woken up.

“While you’ve been lounging on top of thousand galleon robes, I’ve been out working my arse off and getting molested by the Golden Boy.”

As expected, Abraxas doesn’t offer an ounce of sympathy but instead manages to stare at Draco like he’s the dickhead in this situation.

“But I’m not, not really. Unless trying to save myself from terrific heartbreak is a thing to be ashamed of.”

 _You are a coward_ , Abraxas seems to say.

“What would you have me do, then? Give myself up to his every whim and wish, and end up broken and lost when he takes a wife and has fourteen children? Would that please you, you hairy bastard?”

And just like that, he’s admitting fears he wasn’t even aware he had. And Salazar, since when has his life become so very intertwined with Harry’s?

“How will I ever go back to not knowing him?”, Abraxas moves a little closer but still not enough so Draco can pet him. Maybe he’s gotten used to being doted on by the Saviour too.

Taking off his shirt, Draco settles on the sofa with his legs stretched out in front of him, thoughts swirling thickly through his mind.

Harry is important to him now. He can’t quite believe he’s thinking this but Harry Potter is an important person in his life now. Draco has shared things with Harry that Pansy doesn’t know, that mother doesn’t know. It’s not just the mutual drunk confessions either, it’s so much more.

Draco wonders if he can ever go back to not knowing where Harry Potter lives and what he is doing with his life.

He can’t. The simple answer is: he can’t.

Because Harry bloody Potter has somehow wedged his way into Draco’s life, he has somehow gotten under Draco’s skin and now here they are.

He can’t not know Harry. He can’t not have him around, bickering over mundane things and petting Abraxas and cursing four Malfoy generations when the shower water almost burns him. He can’t not sit near the Black Lake and say the things he’s scared of admitting to anyone else, with a bottle of whiskey in hand and Harry beside him. He can’t not lose himself in Harry.

Hence, there’s only thing that can be done. He has to pretend that nothing happened. And if Harry really doesn’t remember on Monday, then everything will be the way it’s supposed to be.

_So then, why does it thought feel like another Sectum Sempra aimed at his chest?_

“Salazar, what have I become?”

***

Without fail, a large bouquet of the rarest and most beautiful flowers arrives on Monday morning with a note attached. And without fail, Draco picks it up and tosses it into the bin without even looking.

Harry snatches the note hoping that the person signed their name this time, no such luck. But what he does find like every other time is a line that if someone used on him, he would hurt them the muggle way instead of trying a hex.

_I must need occlumency as I can’t get you out of my mind._

Ignoring the irritation growing rather steadily within him, Harry tries to sit still and pretend to look busy. Just as he’s actually getting back to normal without very graphic images of what he’s going to do to whoever’s sending these bloody flowers, there’s a knock on the door and the woman who delivers the flowers is standing there looking sheepish.

“Mr. Malfoy, excuse me. There is also this package that arrived for you this morning.”

Watching the way Draco’s nostrils flare at her announcement, Harry gets out of his chair and accepts the case instead. She also hands him an envelope, made of thick cardstock, like the ones at Hogwarts.

On the envelope, in loopy handwriting, there’s a single sentence.

_Courtesy of Lord William Attenborough-Talbot_

Draco walks over looking irritated and sighs at the messenger but takes the package and stows it away at the bottom of his drawer chest with a few muttered words.

And then, Harry’s back to being a ball of frustration and restlessness.

***

Officer Troy catches up to them both just outside the Ministry building ready to go for lunch. He’s heaving as if he’s been running after them, Harry wouldn’t doubt it since he does get very selective when Draco’s around and his attention to anything else is shit.

Frowning, he realizes just how bad that is for an auror. He hasn’t been paying half as much attention as he should as someone on a special assignment in another country, Merlin, he’s been ignoring--

“Mr. Malfoy, Auror Weasley asked me to give you a message.”

“Weasley? And where is he?”

“He’s on a raid but he wanted me to tell you that they’ve made an arrest in the robbery-murder from Saturday.”

Harry can sense the change in the air around them, Draco has tensed in response to this news and Officer Troy stands there awkwardly waiting for an answer.

Harry steps forward, “Thanks, Officer Troy. I’ll let Ron know you told us.”

“Mr. Potter, sir.”

He walks away leaving behind a seething Draco who looks like he’s about to illegally break into the interrogation rooms of the DMLE and kill whoever has been arrested.

“Draco, are you--”

“If you ask me if I’m alright, I will hit you with a leg-locking curse.”

“Right. Well, I’m starving so can we go get lunch before you start hexing everyone? You look like you’re about to go mental.”

“That’s deeply hurtful, Potter. How will I ever recover?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry leads the way down the street and feels rather than sees Draco following him. He wonders when his body became so attuned to his partner’s that he can sense his presence now but stops himself before he goes too far down that path.

Priya Patel welcomes them with a huge grin like has become customary. Harry has even ventured out a bit on his own and tried something new the last time they were here.

Of course, it was nothing compared to Draco’s wildly detailed knowledge about Indian cuisine, but he’s learning.

“Merlin, you’re such a sissy, Potter!”

Harry’s cheeks flame when Draco doesn’t even wait for their server to leave before insulting Harry’s honestly shameful capacity to stand spicy food.

In response, Priya doesn’t make the smallest effort to hide her laughter, instead she reaches forward and hits Draco on the shoulder as a half-hearted way of admonishing him. Except, of course the git takes that as a chance to smile at her and throw in a wink for good measure, as if she’s agreeing with him.

The glass of water by Harry’s arm topples over spraying water all over the table but Draco moves quickly to vanish it with a draw of his wand. Both he and Priya are busy trying to rearrange the dishes so neither catches the twitch in Harry’s jaw that he can’t quite stop.

When Priya does look at him, she mistakes the irritation to be in response to Draco’s comment. She couldn’t be more wrong if she tried, he thinks.

But that’s not what’s making his body react involuntarily, no; it’s the way Draco has completely and utterly glossed over the fact that last night Harry had finally told him he wanted Draco. He remembers, oh yes, he remembers.

He may not remember all the conversation from that day, he may not remember how he got back to the hotel from the pub but he surely remembers how it felt to be so close to Draco that he could feel warm breath on his face. Harry doubts he will ever forget that.

“Oh, don’t mind him, Harry! The first time he was here he was just as lost as you are. He was trying to describe something he once ate and it took me and papa ten minutes to figure out what he was asking for!”

There’s a scowl set firmly in place on Draco’s face.

Harry pushes down his irritation, he has to work with Draco and he won’t let a mild inconvenience like his engulfing, fiery need for Draco to ruin this situation. Even though Draco had insinuated that Harry won’t remember that night once he was sober and he most assuredly does, he can clearly tell that the blond is more than happy that it hasn’t been brought up. 

It makes Harry wonder what would happen if he really didn’t remember. 

_Would Draco ever bring it up?_

Priya doesn’t bother sticking around and responding; she reminds him of Pansy Parkinson and how she and Draco were around each other at Hogwarts. That’s a viable thought to start a conversation with your auror partner slash someone you’re trying not to fall for, surely.

“Did you keep in touch with Pansy after--you know?”

One of these days Harry is going to ask Draco to show him how he stands in front of the mirror and practices that perfect eyebrow raise. There’s no way he is so good at it without practising.

Today, however, is not that day.

“She comes around now and again. Why the sudden curiosity?”

“I was just thinking that--”

“Why start now after all this time?”

“Oi, towhead!”

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

“Will you just listen to me, then?”

He nods but Harry knows from the heat behind Draco’s eyes that he will not survive if he uses that word again.

“I was just wondering, erm--I haven’t met any of your mates and you’ve met mine--”

“Yes, you have. You’ve met Neville and Luna.”

“No, I mean your real frie--”

“Really, Potter? ‘Real’ friends?”

“Forget it, I’m stupid.”

"Don't expect an argument from me."

They sit there in silence, waiting for their food to come out. Harry can see Draco’s face twisting in anger and he knows whatever he’s said can’t have made him that angry then why--oh.

He forgot what the patrolman told Harry as they were leaving for lunch, someone’s been arrested in Daniel’s case.

Well, he’s going to take it upon himself to distract Draco. Isn’t that what mates do?

“So do you talk to Zabini and your backup chorus singers from Hogwarts?”

Draco doesn’t bother hiding his sneer, gods, that brings back memories. For some reason, Harry had never expected to see it on Draco’s face again.

“I mean Crabbe and Goyle.”

With a bored wave of his hand, Draco picks up his glass of water and sips from it with a nonchalance Harry hopes he can fake twenty years from now, “Pansy and I went to see Blaise last month, he lives abroad now.”

“And what about the other two?”

“Why are you so interested in them all of a sudden?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Curious?”

“Yes. Just wondering if your friendships survived the war. Some of mine didn’t.”

“Why do you have to be such a Gryffindor, Harry? People change and so do their relationships. Get over it.”

“Did you just use Gryffindor as an insult?”

“I see you're still not the sharpest tool. At least, you're surviving without Granger spoon feeding you."

“Why do you turn into such a prick sometimes? I just meant did you use it as an insult while at Hogwarts too or is that new?”

“Sure we did. Especially for you.”

It’s his turn to raise an eyebrow in silent question. He’s sure he’s nowhere near as good as Draco but he gets the message across.

“Really? You need an example? I mean you sat there in the Great Hall watching Finnigan enunciate very clearly, 'Eye of rabbit, harp string hum. Turn this water into rum' and then you turned to Weasley and asked him ‘What’s Seamus trying to do do that water?’”

“Okay, I could be wrong but--”

"That's never stopped you before."

“Merlin, you are such a knobhead, Malfoy!”

“Ah, pushed you over the edge of precarious friendship, have I?”

“I’m just trying to distract you from the news of the arrest, you pointy git!”

Draco pauses with his mouth open ready for a response before he realizes what Harry’s said. He closes his mouth and turns away to look at the wall.

Harry doesn’t want to apologize since he wasn’t the one being the dickhead.

“I’m not a child, neither am I an invalid, Potter. I don’t need you to protect me from the big bad world. I already have and in the future will face far worse situations than this.”

That takes all the fight out of Harry, if not the words then the dead look behind those grey eyes.

“People will change their mind about the war slowly. You just have to give them a chance, most of them already have done--”

"Still as dense as ever, aren't you? I know of at least a dozen people who would show up at my grave and dance on it once I'm dead. Some might even be inclined to throw a ball for the happy occasion."

“Draco, you can’t think--”

“Speaking of death and immortality, I wonder if kids will start using your name as a curse word like Merlin. ‘Oh, Potter on a stick!’ I’d like to be around for that, I think.”

He was the one supposed to be making sure Draco wasn’t upset, yet he’s the one that ends up shaking his head and feeling like it’s going to be alright.

“I bet you would.”

He leans back in his chair and watches Draco piling food onto his plate, his face expressionless for once. Harry watches him in silence, thinking it’s alright if Draco doesn’t want him like that.

It’s okay, this is okay. It’s better than okay. We are here, eating together and bantering and sharing jokes. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy: mates.

Surely, this is more valuable than a drunken snog in a dark alley.

***

Maybe, Draco doesn’t want a relationship. Maybe the war and everything else in between changed him so much that he doesn’t crave intimacy like Harry does. Maybe for him, friendship is the closest he can be to someone.

Harry has nearly convinced himself that he and Draco are at the peak of their relationship. That Draco has let him in and he’s grateful for it. If their relationship can’t progress any further, he will gladly accept the familiarity of Draco’s company. And then some nights, he will get drunk and fuck strangers wishing they were someone else.

He is doing great, nothing to worry about at all.

“How did you hear Paradise City? I mean--”

“Are you still on about that?”

“I’m just interested in where you heard it, I’m sure no one at Hogwarts would’ve been a Guns ‘n Roses fan.”

“If you’re so interested, an old boyfriend introduced me to the band. I liked this song but I didn’t really get into a lot of their other music. Does that address your concerns?”

Harry can’t get any words out, Draco’s admission feels like a punch square in the gut and he’s struggling to keep his breaths even.

“Yes.”

He tries not to think about the fact that there was an old boyfriend and that said boyfriend got Draco into muggle music. Or the fact that there have been other boyfriends since then, most likely.

He has no right to feel like he’s somehow been wronged. Like something that was his has been snatched away while he wasn’t looking.

He never mentions the song or the band again.

***

He can’t sleep.

No matter how many times he twists and turns, or how many times he tries to stop thinking and just let darkness overcome him. Even Abraxas had given him a stink eye and meowed his way out of bed and the room.

Looking at the ceiling doesn’t help, neither does closing his eyes. He keeps thinking about how his life has become a whirlwind in the last few weeks ever since Harry Potter returned.

He used to be on Level nine at the Ministry, with minimal contact with people and only the occasional consultation with the Aurors. He could spend hours by himself in his little office, reading and getting lost in worlds far away from their own. Then, come home and eat in peace before falling asleep without worries about murder cases or stupid Saviours going back to their real lives.

With a huff, he gets out of bed and pulls on that cashmere sweater Mother had sent him last winter. It’s incredibly soft to the touch and Draco’s always had sensitive skin, even a rough yarn would irritate it into a constant itch and red hue.

After he’d lost his last cashmere sweater while moving into this flat, this one became his comfort sweater. It’s silly really and he’ll never admit it but sometimes when he’s restless, feeling the soft wool against his skin is calming. So is putting on his glasses rather than being just 12% blind all the time.

He doesn’t wear them outside of his flat if he can help it and never in public. It’s funny actually, that when he first realized he needed glasses just a few months after the war, he couldn’t bring himself to get a pair because for some stupid reason, he had only ever associated glasses with Harry Potter even though about a third of the world wears them.

Now, looking through the aged wooden cabinet that’s been in the Malfoy family for centuries and his mother had insisted he take from his old room, he finds the most comfortable pair of glasses he usually keeps just for when he’s reading a book before bed. They’re just a plain black frame, and he knows he doesn’t look particularly bad in them, it’s just--he bullied someone for half a decade for needing glasses and he’d rather not someone see him wearing a pair and decide to return the favour.

But there is no way anyone will be at the Ministry at this hour. Especially not Harry.

He makes his way through the Atrium and to the Investigation Department to find an old witch sitting behind the huge desk where everyone going inside the lock-ups has to sign a sheet.

“Case number 1123DM.”

She searches through a stack of parchments in front of her while Draco looks around for something to do. He can’t believe the Ministry is still employing people who were likely alive when the Ministry was first founded in the eighteenth century.

“There is one wizard in detention, by the name of Oscar Tremlett.”

“I’d like to see him.”

“The investigators have gone out for a break.”

“I’m under direct orders from the Minister, you can firecall him and confirm.”

The second he mentions Shacklebolt, the witch’s eyes widen and she shakes her head. Draco wonders how often the Minister for Magic wanders down to the Investigation Department, if ever. Chances are Shacklebolt will never find out Draco was here in the middle of the night falsely using his name to get what he wants.

“That’s alright, just sign your name here.”

He rushes through the formalities and offers her his polite smile and in under five minutes, he’s finally sitting in front of a man who couldn’t be more than 24 years old, but his eyes look like they’ve seen too much.

“I can help you, if you help me. I personally knew Daniel and recently met his mother, so I am rather invested in solving this case as soon as possible. If you did kill him, confess now and I can try to negotiate leniency. If you didn’t, I need to know everything you know.”

Ten minutes of frustration and an angrily cast _Legilimens_ later, he has an address where Tremlett thinks he will find crucial evidence if he hurries before someone goes back for it. Draco doesn’t stick around to wait for the Investigators to come back, he has a feeling he’s on the verge of an important breakthrough.

The witch looks up in shock when Draco comes out of the door and rushes toward the lifts. He doesn’t even bother signing his name or answering her agitated questions about what happened. What he’s just done is illegal and he could get in a load of trouble, but not before he finds out what Tremlett is hiding.

He finds the closest floo and recites the address from the parchment before throwing it away onto the floor. The place he comes to is dark, Draco can see it’s some kind of warehouse but it looks like it’s been abandoned for years.

Carefully, he starts on one end of the hall with his wand ready and his magic thrumming through his veins, roaring to get out. He doesn’t cast a Lumos so he doesn’t alert anyone to his presence, and it isn’t easy navigating an unfamiliar place in the dark but he tries his best. And he thinks he’s doing quite well as he’s almost across the warehouse, but just then he spies movement behind him.

Before he can even turn around, he feels a sharp impact on his back like an invisible force has crashed into him followed by a razor-sharp pain. He brings his hand back and feels it touching something wet, his back is throbbing like it’s been rubbed in raw chili and then lit on fire.

It’s an effort even keeping his eyes open but he’s a Malfoy and he won’t go down without a fight. Two of his spells hit the dark figure but most of them crash into walls or bounce off the floor because his aim is so off. The pain feels like it’s eating away at his flesh and Draco really can’t stand up any longer.

When he falls to the ground, he looks around to see if whoever hit him will finish the job, but finds no one. He knows that the only way he can survive this is if someone comes looking for him, if maybe someone talks to Tremlett or sees the parchment he left on the floor in front of the floo.

As he lies in a pool of his own blood, he can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of his life. This is an experience most people live their lives without, some experience it once and here he is, dying soaked in his own blood a second time before he’s even turned 25.

His magic is dwindling inside of him as his eyes flutter closed of their own volition even as he tries to keep them open. Maybe, his magic is giving up on him just like his body is.

Sometimes, he wonders what it’s like to have sheer, raw power like Harry does.

He’ll never admit it and never in front of Harry himself but Draco has seen what he’s capable of. He has felt it while standing next to Harry, the way his magic whirls around him like an endless ocean. The raw strength of it, the raw talent Harry possesses without ever having been taught about wand movements and proper casting mechanisms since he was eight years old.

Draco can’t help but be overwhelmed sometimes when he’s in the same room as Harry and he can feel that raw magic prickling against his skin, like there’s so much of it that Harry can’t even control it all.

And then sometimes, he wonders just how Harry could’ve fit in a cupboard under the stairs when he had so much magic rushing through his veins. And how was that muggle prison ever able to keep him restrained. And how has he survived the last decade with all that power whirring inside him, inside that mortal body.

_Maybe Harry Potter will finally be his Saviour._

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? Good? Not so good?


	12. I'll kneel down, wait for now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely loving hearing from you guys, and I'm very grateful. Thank you! Now, who's ready for a little more pain?

Harry is trying to get Rose to stop crying when the owl arrives. It says a location and a request for him to go there but the second he realizes where he’s being asked to go - on the same street where Daniel Maxime’s body was found - dread settles coldly in his stomach and he yells for Hermione who comes rushing through the door.

He hands her Rosie and apparates to the alley without a single word, that dread coiling in his stomach is making it hard for him to even breathe and he really doesn’t want to stay and waste even a moment.

A haggard looking patrolman is waiting for him when he arrives at the location. He points in the direction of a dark, looming building across the street. Silently, Harry follows the patrolman as he crosses the street and enters what looks like a warehouse, holding the door open for Harry.

He looks around to find several aurors working around the huge room, looking through debris and some of them have blood on their clothes, which are not the standard auror robes but then Harry doesn’t expect anyone to be wearing their uniform when responding to a call in the middle of the bloody night.

“There was a stand-off at the old Mckinney warehouse, sir. Mr. Malfoy was in there at the time when--”

Harry’s knees almost give out at hearing Draco’s name, his hand reaches out to support himself against the wall and the patrolman catches the action and stops whatever he was about to say.

He takes a second to right himself, this is not the first time he’s heard bad news about someone he loves, although since when has Draco been a part of that group is something Harry will have to sort through at some point. Right now, his safety is the most important. He nods for the man to continue.

“They’ve taken him to St. Mungo’s, sir. He was unconscious at the time and lost a lot of blood but Healer Styles who was here said he’d be fine.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m sure your partner will be alright, sir.”

The patrolman - Williams, his badge says - gives him a soft smile as if reassure Harry that his co-worker will be alright. Harry wonders if any of his real concern, the depth of it and the reason is apparent on his face.

No time to waste now though, so he closes his eyes and apparates to the emergency cases floor of St. Mungo’s expecting the worst kind of news because that’s what life has always given him.

The first thing he notices when he arrives at St. Mungo’s is how chaotic it is. The ward seems to be overflowing with patients and he feels uneasiness clawing inside his chest, he just wants to find Draco and leave. But that seems impossible in this mess, everyone is walking around aimlessly and he can’t seem to see anyone he can ask for directions till he catches a glimpse of hideous lime green and he makes a beeline for the healer.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for--”

“Malfoy? He’s on the third floor, the stairs are that way.”

He doesn’t even get a chance to say thank you or ask if Draco’s alright because the healer walks away from him. And anyway, Harry really can’t stand around any longer, he needs to see Draco and make sure he’s alright.

Rushing up the stairs, he almost slips in his hurry and falls once but the thought of Draco in pain or worse, lying unconscious makes him run even faster till he finally gets to the huge doors and steps in to find a quiet floor with curtained off, somewhat private beds.

He’s about to look around for someone to ask for Draco’s bed when he spots the unmistakeable white blond of Draco’s hair and rushes toward it.

“Draco!”

The git looks up in surprise as if he hadn’t expected to see Harry. Those grey eyes pierce through him for a second before he steals his gaze and looks beside himself.

It’s only then that Harry notices the healer standing beside Draco’s bed, applying some kind of salve on his lower back and with a start, Harry realizes that Draco is not wearing a shirt.

As if coming to the same realization, Draco pulls his arm across his chest in a futile attempt to cover up his bare skin. Harry really can use Hermione hitting him upside the head right about now, because despite his sickening worry for his partner’s well-being, he still can’t pry his eyes away from the vast expanse of pale skin.

He tries, oh how he tries, to look away but Draco is so beautiful and Harry wants to make sure he isn’t hurt and what the hell is that hint of darkness on Draco’s right hip and over his shoulder, is that a tattoo--

Harry’s eyes are stuck on the little bit of ink that’s visible but Draco pulls his shirt on in a second while Harry’s eyes trail those long fingers, yearning to get one more look. The edge of darkness looks delicious on his pale skin, such a beautiful contrast it hurts. That may just be Harry’s tired brain unable to censor inappropriate thoughts but god, it’s like fire and ice. Delicate and fragile skin marked by sturdy lines, like hot curry over cool porcelain.

“All done, Mr. Malfoy. You can dress up now.”

The healer offers a soft smile to Draco who returns it even though he hasn’t yet acknowledged Harry’s presence even.

“Thanks.”

“You should rest now, the salve will take a few hours to work and you shouldn’t feel any pain soon enough. Take care.”

“Thank you, Healer Styles.”

The man in standard St. Mungo’s healer robes smiles and walks away leaving them in utter silence. There isn’t a single sound from anyone else on the floor. Harry’s not even sure if there are any other patients behind curtained-off beds.

Finally, Draco breaks the silence as Harry’s not sure he can even form words right now.

“I’m fine.”

Concern and worry and restlessness course thickly through his veins but above all, he feels anger bubbling up his chest.

“Fine? Fucking fine? What the fuck were you doing there without me? Wh--”

“Harry--”

“--y were you alone? Why the fuck couldn’t you floo me?”

“I had to go, I didn’t want to let them get away with it.”

“And you couldn’t have taken a minute to call me?”

“I told you, it was time sensitive--”

“Your life was in danger, you prick! You could have been killed!”

“I told you I’m fine--”

“How fucking thick are you, you pointy git?”

“Potter--”

“Shut the fuck up! And listen to me! I’m your fucking partner and that means I’m your shadow, I go where you go and you better fucking get used to it because that’s how aurors work! I’m never letting you out of my sight again after this stunt you’ve pulled, you arrogant berk!”

“Oh, don’t be so sentimental, Potter. It was a routine raid--”

“Is that why they almost cut you open?”

He can’t help the panic rising through his throat, making it too hard to even speak. Draco’s eyes widen at the way Harry’s voice breaks over those words and the git finally seems to understand the genuine concern Harry feels.

“Harry, I’m fine. I should’ve told you but I didn’t have the time. I’m sorry.”

Gods, he’s never heard Draco apologize before. In fact, he’s sure that no one has ever heard Draco Malfoy apologize before. And he had to do it now, when Harry’s already drowning in the intensity of his feelings toward the berk.

He can’t bring himself to speak, he’s sure his voice will definitely betray him this time so he just nods at Draco’s apology.

They stay like that for a bit, Draco’s eyes slowly slip closed probably from a potion given to him by the healers and Harry pulls a chair close to his bed and watches him fall asleep.

Merlin, he looks so beautiful like this. Peaceful, without that mask of indifference that Harry knows is burying multitudes of emotions underneath it at any given time.

He’d never thought about it but Draco’s eyelashes are darker than his hair and they stand out spectacularly against his pale skin, long and fanning delicate looking eyes. His pupils are shifting rapidly under his closed pink eyelids, and Harry’s certain that Draco must be dreaming.

He sighs and leans forward in his chair, allows himself to touch a shaky hand to Draco’s cheek. He’s just making sure that Draco’s fine and right in front of him.

It’s a level of possessiveness he has no right to feel but he can’t help himself especially when Draco’s eyelids flutter in his sleep and he leans into Harry’s touch with a soft sleepy sigh.

Gods, he wants to be here for ages, looking over something that’s become more precious to him than anything else in a matter of months.

***  
Something is incessantly ticking somewhere and it is incredibly annoying so he’s forced to open his eyes. When all he sees is white everywhere, he remembers where he is and what’s happened.

Sitting up with a jolt and expecting to see Draco unconscious on the bed in front him, he’s surprised to see the man sitting up in said bed instead in all his Malfoy glory, not even a hair out place.

You couldn’t tell he was injured mere hours ago, his clothes are perfect as always and he’s sitting with his back straight, arms crossed in front of his chest and legs crossed at the ankles.

“Anyone would think you were the patient here, with the way you’ve been snoring.”

“How long was I asleep?”

Draco uncrosses his arms and brings up his hand to brush away a stray strand of hair away from his left eye and the sight of long fingers reminds Harry of when he’d come in to find Draco shirtless, all that pale skin and that hint of darkness--

“Long enough.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You looked like you needed the rest.”

“You’re the one that got hit, Draco.”

“Yes, and they gave me potions and now I’m fine.”

“What? Just like that?”

“Yes, I’m free to go.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t go home just yet, it’s only been a few hours since--”

“Are you saying that you know better than the healers, Potter?”

“Which healer? Was it the one from before, he looked like an overgrown kid, what does he know?”

“That’s Healer Styles you’re talking about, and I’d say he knows quite a bit to be the youngest certified Healer at St. Mungo’s in half a century.”

Harry frowns at Draco’s answer, of course, the git would know detailed information about a random healer.

“So, he’s cleared you to leave, then?”

“Yes, and I’m ready to go now.”

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

“Healer Styles gave me the salve in case it hurts again but it’s healed for now.”

“But you’ll still take a few days off to rest, right?”

“Not when the people responsible for Daniel’s death are still walking free.”

“Draco--”

“You can either come with me or stay out of my way, Potter.”

Harry tries not to show how much it irks him when Draco calls him that. It’s always a sign that Draco is trying to distance himself from Harry, mostly preceding a stupid decision on his part.

“Fine, but don’t you dare try to go on raids by yourself trying to be all heroic.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it while you’re around, O’ Chosen One.”

“Let’s just go.”

***  
As much as it’s flattering to have Harry worrying about him and getting him tea without even making fun of how much sugar he takes, it’s also frustrating.

“I’m not made of glass, Potter!”

He’d snapped yesterday and found Harry looking at him with wide, sad eyes and a downward curve of his lips. Guilt was quick to surface through the annoyance in that instant.

“I know, I’m just--I’d like for you to be comfortable.”

And there went Potter making Draco feel like a prick with all his generosity and concern.

“I am grateful, Harry, but can you stop acting like I’m fragile?”

“I’m sorry.”

While Draco is still recovering from the look of pure concern on Harry’s face at work today, he receives an owl from Mother asking him to go see her. He hadn’t wanted to go because seeing her getting weaker and iller was enough once a week but he’d been raised to obey his parents so of course, he goes.

“I heard you got injured, Draco. Are you okay, darling?”

“I did, but I’m fine, mother.”

“Why do you insist on doing such a dangerous job, darling? You could easily live here comfortably with the Malfoy fortune--”

“Live here and do what, mother? Torture myself with the worst memories of my life? I’m not that masochistic.”

“Draco, this is your home.”

“No, it’s yours.”

“Your father would be most disappointed--”

“Father is in Azkaban serving the sentence for his crimes, mother. I know you like to forget that and I know you like to think that we are still a happy family but we are not.”

He absolutely loathes disrespecting his mother but Narcissa Malfoy will likely not even remember this conversation in a few hours.

“Draco, that is utterly disrespectful! I did not raise you to be so ill-mannered!”

Even with her fragile frame and her tired eyes, Narcissa’s voice echoes around the huge tea room with unwavering fortitude and Draco still can’t help but flinch and lower his eyes in front of the strongest woman he knows.

“I’m sorry, m’am.”

“You are not to disrespect your father, Draco. He commands your respect no matter what.”

He wants to laugh at that, surely the state Lucius Malfoy is in, he doesn’t command anyone’s respect. He can still remember father’s health deteriorating right in front of his eyes in that summer before the war.

He had gone from being the epitome of strength and power to a shell of a man who had trouble standing on his own. His hair was no longer the pristine white blond cascading down his shoulders like a waterfall it had once been, it was greasy with sweat. His hands used to tremble uncontrollably as he’d raise his goblet in a toast to the Dark Lord, and his eyes were mirrors into a most troubled soul.

Azkaban can only have made it worse.

“Yes, mother.”

She looks at him for a long moment, before her eyes seem to refocus and it seems like she’s looking right through him.

“Draco, when did you get back from Hogwarts? Did your father go to the station to receive you?”

He bites down on the sob that’s threatening to fall out of his mouth as he watches his mother lose another little piece of her sanity. She sits straighter like she used to, hands knotted in her lap and a faint expression of pride on her face.

He has to look away so she doesn’t notice the tear that rolls down his cheek, too quick for him to stop it.

“Yes, he did.”

He excuses himself and asks Maxy to take Mother to her room for rest. She silently nods at him, tears filling her own eyes as she disapparates to go help her Lady.

***  
After his meeting with Mother, Draco decides to lie down for a bit before he goes to the office. Shacklebolt had told him to take the day off if he wanted but Draco had politely declined. But he knows that if he shows up a little late, no one will blame him.

He dreams of a time before his world was tugged upside down. Dreams of a beautiful manor full of life, white peacocks roaming vast gardens and his mother wearing white silk, commanding the respect of anyone looking at her.

He dreams of Hogwarts in a different life, where Harry takes his offered hand and Draco never spends seven years despising someone he’d rather stand beside.

But then, just like reality, a power hungry excuse of a man shows up and kills everyone Draco loves right in front of his eyes.

He wakes up in a sweat, screaming for someone to help his family--only to find Abraxas staring at him warily from across the room.

He doesn’t dwell on the dream, he never has. Instead, he gets ready and floos to the Ministry to find a good use for his time. He’s surprised to find the office empty, no sign of Harry there or even in the break room.

When Harry doesn’t turn up for a good ten minutes, Draco starts to worry. He tries finding Weasley but he’s out of the office in regards to his own case.

In the end, he goes to Shacklebolt.

“He’s where?”

“Following up on a lead, Mr. Malfoy.”

“What lead? Why wasn’t I called in for this?”

“It was something he worked out yesterday. He insisted on going alone and it didn’t seem like something he couldn’t handle, to be honest.”

“So, you sent him alone to follow a blind lead?”

“I didn’t send him anywhere, Mr. Malfoy. He left without informing me and I only know because he left me a memo. He made serious headway with the case and need I remind you, he is an excellent auror.”

Shacklebolt looks a little sheepish and for a moment, Draco feels like a parent admonishing his child but of course that’s absurd. But, Shacklebolt does steal his eyes from Draco.

_Oh how the tables have turned_ , he thinks. _Harry is an exceptional auror and he could hold his own against Volde-fucking-mort so then why won’t Draco’s heart stop pounding against the cage of his ribs, trying to escape? Why the sudden blind panic?_

“May I see it? The memo?”

He peers down at the address written on the piece of parchment and dread coils tightly in his stomach. It’s an abandoned house Tremlett had thought about under the _Legilimens_ spell right before he’d sent Draco into a trap.

_He defeated the darkest wizard of all time, he can survive whoever is behind all this mess. Surely, he can. But why won’t my heart slow down from this brutal pace?_

“Merlin, Potter’s an idiot!”

“Mr. Malf--”

“I need to go, Minister. if I don’t return in an hour, send back-up.”

“But--”

“One hour, Minister.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer and storms out to get to the lobby so he can apparate.

“Stupid green eyed berk!”

The witch walking by him raises her eyebrows in surprise but Draco really couldn’t care about offending the best of Britain right now, he must find the Boy Who Lived before someone finally does manage to kill him in an ambush.

He apparates to the alley across from the house - the one where Daniel was found - and rushes over with light feet. The main door is ajar and there are no sounds, so Draco slips in and starts checking the rooms one by one.

The lobby is empty and so are the other rooms on the ground floor, so he slowly makes his way up the stairs. The last step creaks under his foot and he freezes, ready for a curse to come his way any second but nothing happens. Worry settles uncomfortably in his chest but he refuses to let it distract him.

The first room on the second floor is also empty and he’s about to move on to the next one when a flash of black catches his eye and he quickly makes his way through the corridor and into the large hall across the floor.

He frees his left hand and raises it slowly as he steps behind the figure in front of him. His wand is at the ready as he curls his other hand over the person’s mouth and pulls them back towards him.

“Mmmph.”

“Shut up, Potter.”

***

The second Harry steps into the house, he knows it’s a trap.

Unfortunately, it’s too late to escape as the huge wooden doors slam shut behind him. He looks around in a frenzy to see if someone’s in the room with him but he doesn’t see anyone. For some reason, Harry’s eyes wander around to find Draco, to make sure he’s alright when his partner is not even here with him.

He tries to use _Alohamora_ on the door but nothing happens. With a deep breath, Harry steps farther into the house checking for any sign of another person. When he hears a creaking sound from upstairs, he knows someone’s there. Slowly, he creeps up without making a noise except of course the last step makes a loud creaking sound the moment Harry’s about to step off.

He expects someone to spring out from somewhere and blindside him but nothing happens. Then, he hears another sound and follows it toward the other side of the house.

He’s about to step out from behind the wall just when a very bright streak of light shoots out from that corner of the house and at the same moment, something covers his mouth. Startled, he tries to break free but he realizes two things the very next moment: 

One, there’s someone behind him and the thing covering his mouth is a hand.

Two, he feels a stinging pain in his chest just above his navel, and it almost brings him to his knees but before he hits the ground, he feels a strong arm encircling around him from behind and then a strong chest along his back as he’s pulled backwards. The pain makes his eyes water and he can hardly open them to see the arm around his waist. With some difficulty, he turns his face a little to the side and finds pale skin and angry grey eyes.

“Drac—“

“Shut it, Potter. We’ll talk later, just stay still for now.”

The other person in the room doesn’t appear and there’s a thunderous silence all around them save Draco’s breath right against Harry’s ear. He is a long line of heat behind Harry, his thighs aligned perfectly against Harry’s and his chest puffing in and out right along Harry’s back.

The stinging pain is making his eyes water and the only way he can stand the pain is if he distracts himself from just how much it hurts. He is standing absolutely stiff because he’s scared he’ll make a noise if he lets himself relax even a little bit. Draco’s hard body is absolutely pressed into his and the strong arm has an unrelenting grip on his waist.

He tries to struggle out of Draco’s grip, the pain has subsided into a dull throb rather than the sharp ache it first was and he thinks he can take down whoever is on the other side, but Draco tightens his arm even more and shifts his face so his mouth is practically kissing Harry’s ear.

“Don’t make me put you over my knee.”

A zing of arousal courses down his body and he knows it’s the most inconvenient time but his git of a partner seems to want to kill Harry by means of sexual frustration. He barely keeps an embarrassing sound from coming out of his lips, it’s no small feat.

And then the bastard feels the need to bring his lips even closer and whisper, “Good boy.”

Harry’s going to kill him after they get out of here. Even though Draco saved him by pulling him out of the way of another curse and then muttered a standard healing spell to help with the pain, what he’s doing right now is making Harry want to kill him. And at the same time, he never wants to move away from the heat and the safety of another body against his.

Still entertaining the thought of exacting revenge on Draco as a distraction from the pain, Harry doesn’t notice the figure moving across the room but his partner does and without a second’s delay, he lets Harry go and steps forward.

Harry looks on from the ground as Draco spits spell after spell at the person, his posture stiff and his wand arm coiled tightly. He’s a sight to behold like this, his lips wrapping around spells like he’s reciting poetry rather than trying to blow someone to bits.

His own body is fighting the sudden mind-numbing pain that’s extended to his limbs now, it burns so sharply that Harry almost feels high on it. He certainly feels like he’s in a dream and that he’s not really lying on a floor with waves of pain shooting throughout his body.

Draco looks like he was born to cast spells, strings of bright light casting from his wand as his fingers wrap around the wood in a tight grip and yet light enough that it all looks so effortless.

Draco's wand movement is so fucking elegant, it’s probably his traditional training so he does it prim and proper as opposed to the more recent shorthand style and hasty movements. Not that he isn't quick, he's lightening fast sometimes, but he's graceful and swift rather than half-arsed hasty movements. Harry’s eyes are fixed on his strong form, his elegant movements as he brings the other person to their knees without so much as breaking a sweat.

He looks like he was born to do this, to cast spells in that irritatingly delicate way as he walks across the room with his wand still pointed at the kneeling figure. He looks the picture of danger, like he could destroy the person in front of with the slightest effort.

Harry knows he won’t, though.

In what seems like a different life now, Draco Malfoy wouldn’t have hesitated to cast another spell or hex and hurt the person even further. But that Draco doesn’t exist anymore.

Finally, the pain again recedes to a throb in his middle so he pushes to his feet through the light fog of the ache and steps up next to Draco who looks like he’s about to collapse any second. Pushing away the instinct to rush to his partner’s aid, Harry levels a _Reducto_ at the wizard but he steps out of the way at the last moment.

Harry’s arm hurts with the effort and his hand trembles around his wand but he blinks through the pain and determinedly steps closer to the wizard,

“Expelliarmus!”

The dark figure gets knocked against the far wall, his wand in Harry’s hand. Draco stops him with a hand on his chest when he tries to check on his partner, instead asking Harry to take the wizard in.

With a quick _Incarcerous_ , he detains the wizard and apparates them to the holding cells at the Ministry and goes to find the leading DMLE officer on the case.

Draco is worse for the wear when they get back and Kingsley orders him to go home rather than waiting for the Investigators to talk to the wizard they’ve brought in.

“I didn’t say anything about the _legilimens_ you cast on Tremlett, Mr. Malfoy, but don’t test my patience.”

That warrants no argument from Draco who turns around and leaves without another word. He doesn't even look at Harry, doesn't even acknowledge him, and that settles heavily in Harry's chest. How can Draco just walk away after such an intense experience? How can he go without even asking Harry if he's alright, or even looking at him once? If nothing more, they are partners and partners care about each other's well being after a mission. Don't they?

_Am I still high from all that pain?_

Next Kingsley turns to Harry, “You shouldn’t even be conscious right now, Harry, after the spell that wizard used. Don’t make me drag you to St. Mungo’s.”

And like a child admonished, he floos to the hospital and sits through two hours of healers buzzing around him, baffled at the fact that he was able to survive such a dangerous curse without falling into a coma. He just smiles and nods at them, all the while wondering if Draco is alone in his flat and if he's okay. After all, he did finally manage to catch Damien's killer. 

_I wish he'd asked me to come along, and just stay. Not talk or drink or anything, but just stay._

For the first time since coming back, he craves the solitary isolation of his cottage in France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm stretching out the angst but I promise it'll be worth it. Any thoughts on this chapter?
> 
> PS - That 'don't make me put you over my knee' comment was heavily motivated by a conversation between Gabby and Illya in The Man from Uncle. You know which one!


	13. Order of Merlin, First class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a filler chapter because there was something needed after that last one. Also, I wanted to give you something before shit gets real, so yeah. Expect another upload soon!

The man Draco was in a duel with is Tobias Ashworth, a known illegal goods smuggler that the Ministry has a hitwizard assigned to. He’s been missing for three years as far as the Ministry was aware.

He came back to the country for a trade of ancient artifacts and illegal potions. On the 12th of this month, he was involved in a robbery and he put a shrunken trunk into an unsuspecting woman’s purse. After losing her in a crowd, he looked around till he spotted her and snatched her bag.

At this time, Daniel Maxime saw what happened and chased him into an abandoned house. Following a short duel, Daniel Maxim was killed by Ashworth and his body dumped in the dark alley across the house.

At his trial, Ashworth is sentenced to seventeen years in Azkaban for his crimes of smuggling, robbery, murder of a minor and posing a threat to society.

Daniel’s mother hugs Draco and cries on his shoulder, thanking him profusely for not forgetting her Daniel.

Draco refuses to accept the Order of Merlin Kingsley wants to award him for his bravery in capturing Tobias Ashworth, and for saving Harry Potter.

***  
Once when they’re back near the Black Lake and completely blotto, Draco reaches out to brush hair off Harry’s forehead. He’s getting ready for another insult about his bird’s nest but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Draco takes his fingers off and looks up toward the sky.

“There must be something about you Potters that makes people want to risk death to protect you. Maybe those damned eyes you have. Severus actually did it, didn’t he? So did your father’s friends.”

Not wanting to think about the ever broody potions master and his mother or the others he has lost, Harry takes the other way out of this, “And who else?”

“Yours truly”, he says with such nonchalance like he’s talking about buying milk at the shops. Harry feels his pulse racing against his fingertips, itching to reach out and touch.

“Draco--”

“Don’t. I’m drunk out of my mind and I’m sure I won’t remember this tomorrow, and that’s the only reason I’m saying this. Let’s just forget I did.”

“But, I--”

“Please.”

_And isn’t that something?_

Draco Malfoy saying ‘please’ in such a broken voice that Harry can feel his desperation like it’s crawling across his own skin. And this is the time he chooses to plead, out of all the times he could have and should have.

“Okay.”

_Gods, why is Draco doing this?_

***

“I am assigning you a straight-forward case as you’ve had plenty of risk and danger, lately.”

“All due respect, Minister, this is the Auror Department.”

“Mr. Malfoy, if it was anyone else I would’ve insisted they take time off after such a taxing case. Knowing you, I am offering this. Would you like to take a vacation, instead?”

Harry has to look away from the chastised look on Draco’s face so he doesn’t burst out laughing. Kingsley catches his eye and winks at him and Harry really doesn’t want Draco on his arse because he laughed at the misery that befalls the blond.

“No, Minister.”

“Good. Now about your case, Mr. Goldstein is an elderly wizard who lives on his own and is quite convinced that dark forces are at work in his neighborhood. Your job is to make sure his mind can be at peace.”

Draco’s face transforms into a spectacular scowl and Harry is literally curling his lips to stop any sound from escaping.

“So, we are attending to an old man’s paranoia?”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy. You and Mr. Potter need a buffer between big cases, and I want you in top condition for when the case you’re originally working on becomes relevant.”

“But, old an man--”

“Vacation, Mr. Malfoy?”

Harry can’t hold it in that time and the look of seething rage Draco shoots him makes him want to hide behind Kingsley’s magnificent frame. If looks could kill, Draco Malfoy would’ve done what Voldemort couldn’t.

***

Mr. Goldstein is a prick who has made fun of his and Draco’s age and told them they would have never made aurors in his time, all in the three minutes they’ve been standing outside his door.

He is currently looking at Harry and telling him that being a child who had infinite good luck and a prophecy about his life doesn’t make him a great wizard. Harry’s so close to turning around and walking away but Draco steps between Harry and Mr. Goldstein effectively cutting him off.

“You have concerns about your neighbours?”

“And you are?”

“Malfoy.”

“What Malfoy?”

“Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry can’t control the laugh that’s already out of his mouth but he covers it up with a half-believable cough, to which both Draco and the wrinkled old man turn to him.

“Bad throat, Potter?”

And just like that, Harry’s the rude one even though Draco’s just pretty much insulted the man. He can never really wrap his head around how easy it is for Malfoy to insult someone and get away with it.

Whilst Harry is a bumbling idiot in most of his conversations, not sure what to say to someone he’s just met or someone’s he’s known for years and then there’s Draco. Perfectly sociable Draco, with elegant etiquette and perfect manners and even then he can say the rudest things to people and get away with it.

Must be the Malfoy charm, Harry recalls Rita Skeeter’s words from that Ministry gala.

“Potter?”

“Wha--oh, yeah. Just a bit sore.”

He rolls his beautiful grey eyes and turns back to face their elderly wizard.

“May we come inside and take a look at what is bothering you?”

With a grunt, they are invited inside. And so begin the most torturous two hours of Harry’s life after the war.

“The family across the street are a disgrace to the wizarding world. Their son married a man and--”

“You have a problem with that, Mr. Goldstein?”

The way Draco glares at their host is absolutely scathing, even the old man looks a little unsettled by that gaze on him.

“It’s not--”

“Because if you do, I suggest you file another complaint so some other auror can help you.”

Harry looks from Draco to Mr. Goldstein and back, waiting for one of them to break the tense silence. Draco is absolutely unrelenting as he stares at their elderly wizard, his admission hangs heavy in the air.

“I don’t have a problem with it.”

“Good. So, you were saying?”

Harry’s mind races off thinking if he’ll ever be as open and courageous about his own preferences as Draco is. Sure, the people close to him know but Rita Skeeter and the rest of England still thinks of him as someone who will have a wife and children in a few years.

Draco takes a statement from Mr. Goldstein and assures him that he will personally find out if any of his doubts are true.

“I do have quite extensive personal experience in dark magic, after all.”

Mr. Goldstein’s blue eyes widen in shock just before the door slams shut in their faces and Draco saunters away with the barest of smiles playing on his lips.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? How was it?


	14. Give a little time to me or burn this out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so. Harry is falling ever so harder for Draco. And well, Draco is struggling with his own issues. I know that some of you might be getting a bit impatient, but I can't give you a band-aid solution for the bigger insecurities that these characters have. Besides, I'm a firm believer of the theory: If you want to see how strong your characters are, break them and rip them apart. 
> 
> Note - There is a gif included in this chapter, which I loved so fucking much that I was compelled to write a whole scene around it. The gif belongs to onceuponanactimel on tumblr and they deserve all the credit for it. Thanks for letting me use it!

Luna firecalls him around ten at night which is alarming since she never stays up that late much less contacts Draco. The second he sees her face in the flames, he’s awake and alert.

“Draco, I was hoping you could help me with something.”

“Are you hurt? Is Rolf okay?”

“We are both fine, it’s about the Quibbler.”

Okay, so she is physically fine and so is Rolf. Draco settles down on the floor rather than kneeling and feeling the floor digging into his skin.

He spares a moment to think how much his relationships have changed in the last few years, not only in terms of who they are with but also what they entail. At Hogwarts, he couldn’t tell you a single time he was ready to floo somewhere in the middle of the night at the slightest hint of risk to someone he called a friend.

Now, he would jump in front of a chosen few people if he suspected danger. There are not a lot, mind. But there are people he cares about now, more than superficially.

“What is it, Luna?”

“Well, the new issue is supposed to go out tomorrow but the wizard on the front page has recanted his consent so we can’t print his photos.”

He doesn’t like the direction he thinks this going in. Surely, she’s not asking him to--

“So, would you please pose for a few quick photos?”

_\--yep._

“Luna, I--”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t absolutely need to.”

Well, she has been a good friend to him and now it’s his turn to return the favour.

“I won’t have to undress, would I? Because that’s not someth--”

“No, all you have to do is stand or sit.”

“And smile at some idiot with a camera?”

“Well actually, it might be better if you didn’t.”

“What kind of a front page is this? You don’t want me to smile at all?”

“I think it might be better if you pose naturally.”

Without a word, he floos to her office where she’s waiting with some idiot with a camera and a worried looking Rolf is lurking around in the corner who keeps mouthing ‘thank you thank you’ at him.

Draco feels a twinge of jealousy at the sight, he wants someone who will give up their sleep because Draco is worried about something, even if they can’t do anything about it they’ll stick around just to make sure he knows someone cares.

“So, what exactly did you mean by ‘pose naturally’, then?”

Luna just smiles at him and says, “Look unimpressed and dangerous, maybe scowl a little.”

Only she can say that with a smile on her face and get away with it. If it were anyone else, Draco would’ve torn them apart by now. Oh, well.

“Oh also, is it okay if I change the colour of your hair a little? Make it a bit darker--”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Now, there are some things no one will get away with insulting, his hair is top of that list.

“Nothing, we just--we think it might look better if we darkened your hair a little and changed your eyes to blue--”

“My eyes?!!”

“Draco, you are absolutely perfect and extremely handsome the way you are. It’s just that the wizard who cancelled was part of a bigger line-up and everyone else we photographed has dark hair and blue eyes. So we want to keep that symmetry.”

He doesn’t really get why they have to ‘keep that symmetry’ or what that even means, but he’s here to help a mate and if he needs to put on a somewhat itchy suit and change his eye-colour, then he will.

“Luna, may I ask you something?”

She nods at him while simultaneously straightening his tie.

“Why didn’t you ask Harry to do this? Wouldn’t he be a much better choice?”

“I’m not sure of that. He wouldn’t have said no, if I’d asked but I think you fit on the front of a magazine more than he does.”

“High praise, Ms. Lovegood.”

She just smiles at him and walks away. Rolf looks like he’s fallen asleep on his feet but Draco’s sure he won’t leave or lie down till the shoot has been completed so he hurries to get in position.

Luna makes him shave and puts back his original eye and hair colour before handing him a glass of whiskey and asking him to sprawl across a somewhat uncomfortable leather chair.

By the end of it he’s too tired to stick around and even look at the photos and soon as Luna assures him that they have enough, he floos home and collapses on his bed.

***  
The Weasley clan makes for an interesting evening.

After fielding grievances from every single one of them about being back in England for so long and not meeting up for pints, he asks Ron to get everyone together. They meet at a quiet pub in Devon.

Charlie Weasley is fit beyond description and Harry is not blind so of course he notices. Charlie smiles at him the first time he notices Harry looking, and the second time he winks.

“So Harry, I read about that smuggler you caught last week. Rotten bastard, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, we ended up catching him because of a murder he did.”

George leans forward with his elbows on the table looking like a first year listening to gossip, “Oh yeah, the bloke from Hogwarts.”

“Yes. He was just helping out an old lady who was robbed, actually.”

“Wrong place at the wrong time, innit?”

The conversation tapers off into one of Ron’s cases where they apprehended a major league quidditch player illegally distributing strength and speed potions.

Charlie looks intrigued at hearing the whole investigation procedure, “Don’t you just love being an auror? Catching all the bad sort?”

Ron nods enthusiastically at his brother but Harry just bows his head and sips from his glass. When he feels eyes on him, he looks up to find everyone staring.

“Erm.”

“Don’t you enjoy being an auror?”

It’s Charlie, he’s asked the question while the rest of them just stare at him in curiosity. Well, might as well say it in front of them.

“Not really, no. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, since I was in France even.”

Ron looks alarmed at his words, “What do you mean, Harry?”

“I--it’s just too much some days, Ron. And I used to like that, all the running around and chasing wizards and all that. Now, I’m just tired is all.”

“Tired of what, mate? What will you do instead?”

“I’m not retiring or anything, Ron. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Things.”

All five Weasleys snort at once and Harry can’t help the flush rising up his neck and cheeks.

“Could you be more cryptic, Harry?”

“Sorry, I just--I’m not sure of anything yet.”

Charlie is the first to ask him a question in the following silence, “So, what do you like to do besides chasing dark wizards?”

“Erm, I’m not really sure.”

“Don’t think of it as a job, just say the one thing you enjoy most.”

Harry’s speaking before he’s even had a chance to think about it, “Flying.”

Charlie’s grin is weirdly communicative and Harry finds himself grinning right back.

“See? You do know what you want to do.”

“But I can’t just--”

“Can’t you? You are the Chosen One, after all.”

They all raise their glasses in a toast and Harry’s blush deepens even more. In the middle of the ridiculousness and the mock toasts, he gives it a passing thought: flying.

Surely, he couldn’t.

***  
Ginny looks very unimpressed opposite him. In fact, she looks like she’s going to stab him in the eye with the butter knife next to her hand. He feels nervous in the silence.

He had just wanted to make an effort to explain to her that his and Ron’s relationship with Draco has changed a lot in the last few months and the reason is that Draco Malfoy is not the same person he used to be.

Harry can’t deny what he feels anymore and Ginny has always been one of the people he cares most about. So even if nothing ever happens between him and Draco, they’re still going to be in each other’s lives. At least, that’s what he hopes.

So yeah, he’s sitting across from her at the table that’s been vacated by the rest of the Weasleys after they took their leave. The alcohol in his system is making it very hard for him to stay still under the murderous glare from Ginny Weasley.

Maybe he should’ve waited till he was at least sober enough to remember this conversation tomorrow.

_Haven’t you already had enough important conversations while blind drunk?_

Ginny’s hand clenches into a fist on the table, “Have you forgotten what he’s like? How can you forget everything he said and did? Everything he—”

“He has changed, Ginny. He’s not the same person—”

“Is that why you’re head over heels for him? Or is that something you felt back in Hogwarts too?”

He’s too shocked to answer her. The only reason he had asked Ginny to stay back was so he could try to explain why they were all friendly with Draco now. This is not something he had ever thought would come up in conversation, her eyes are hard and unrelenting as she stares at him and he can feel heat rising up on his neck and face.

“My god, you’re blushing like a maiden bride. Did you know that you blush every time someone even says his name?”

“I—”

“And did you know that he has fucked his way through the entire Puddlemore United team, starting with Oliver Wood?”

He feels like someone has just pushed him into the Great Lake, the cold numbness on his skin is so close to how he’d felt when he had dived into the lake during the Triwizard Tournament all those years ago. That’s how he feels now: cold and numb.

“I didn’t mean to be crude but I think you should know about his—lifestyle.”

Harry sits there in front of her, staring at his shoes. He knows he has no right to but he feels betrayed, betrayed and like someone has pushed a knife through his chest and then made sure to twist it so he can feel it moving inside him, cutting him to ribbons.

“Harry?”

He looks up to find her eyes a bit softer now. Now, that she has done what she wanted to do.

“Harry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Leave it, Ginny.”

“Merlin, you really do love him, don’t you? It’s not just about—gods!”

He gets up from the chair and waves at her silently before walking out of the pub and onto the street. For a good five minutes, he doesn’t know where he is or where he’s going.

Then, he remembers that Draco has already walked out of his life so what does it matter if he slept with Oliver Wood and whoever else. He tells himself it doesn’t matter.

When he walks into someone, it takes him a moment to realize that the man is carrying a camera and looks like he’s been caught doing something illegal. Reporter.

“M-mr. Potter?”

“Did you hear all that?”

The man snatches his eyes away from Harry’s.

“Get everything you wanted? Then, what the fuck are you doing hanging around?”

“I only heard the last part not everythin—”

“Well, do you expect me to repeat it for you, then?”

“No, I—”

“Will you just leave me be? Please?”

The man nods his head and turns around to walk away, leaving Harry frozen in the middle of the street with realization settling coldly in his stomach.

_A reporter knows he’s in love with a man._

Tomorrow’s papers will be lined with stories about Harry Potter and what a shirt-lifter he is. Maybe they’ll even mention Dumbledore and all his influence on Harry.

“Great, this is perfect.”

He picks himself up from the bench he had collapsed on when the gravity of the situation had finally sunk in. He can’t do anything about this now, it’s out.

The secret he’d kept to himself for years is finally out.

Under the trepidation and the helplessness, there’s also relief. Maybe it’ll be better from here on out.

“Liar.”

In the pitch dark of his hotel room, he can admit to himself all the lies he believes in the light of the day. He knows nothing will get better once this news gets out, it’ll only get worse. They’ll only hound him more, this time with hatred rather than reverence.

He falls on the bed without taking off his trousers or shirt, he hasn’t got the strength to worry about it now.

He’ll deal with it tomorrow.

***

Harry’s fighting a bad headache because he’s an idiot who can never remember that his potions are not self-replenishing and he has to get more when they run out. Well, after this headache he will never forget to make sure all the vials are at least half full at any given time.

The second he steps out of the floo, he’s expecting everyone to stop what they’re doing to look at him with disdain and disgust on their faces and filthy words on their lips about him. As much as he’s been telling himself he wouldn’t care what people said once that reporter published his story, he knows that he would care at least somewhat. After all, his whole world will be tipped on its axis the second it gets printed that the Boy Who Lived is a queer.

Just as he’s getting out of the lift, he collides with someone and sends parchment flying everywhere. Without even looking, he bends down to pick up the mess he’s made before someone can see who he is and start apologizing for something that was definitely his fault, when his eyes fall on a moving picture and he feels like the world’s just stopped spinning around him.

There, on the cover of the Quibbler, is Draco fucking Malfoy doing-- _Merlin, is that even legal?_

 

_ _

 

“Uh, excuse me?”

Picking up the paper with trembling fingers and being unable to look away from the maddeningly looping photo, he stands up.

“Mr. Potter?”

Circe, why won’t this person just let him look at the photo in peace? Is it too much to ask for--

“Harry!”

He jolts in surprise and the paper slips from his fingers and lands on the floor again. Before he can lean down to pick it up, Ron saunters over and pats him on the back hard enough that Harry actually stumbles a step forward. That may actually have to do with the mesmerizing way Draco is looking up at Harry from the floor. Erm, from the paper, Draco’s not actually on the floor and looking up at Harry--okay. He will stop now.

“Harry, you alright, mate?”

All he can manage is a nod.

“What’re you--is that Malfoy??!!”

_Yup._

“He’s--bloody hell, that looks--but he isn’t even doing anything like….bugger.”

_Yup._

The witch who Harry had rammed into finally loses her patience, she huffs and walks away but then comes right back to take her copy of the Quibbler leaving Harry to stare at the floor where Malfoy’s face was just now.

“Uh mate, are you alright?”

“I will be, Ron. I will be.”

Ron doesn’t ask him any more questions, he just wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders and starts walking with him in the general direction of their offices. Harry is silent the whole way, still processing his way through the idea that Draco Malfoy is on the cover of this month’s Quibbler doing things that should be illegal in at least half the world.

***

“I just saw this month’s Quibbler.”

Draco feels like his heart has fallen through his feet to the floor. Harry wasn’t supposed to see the stupid photos, no one was. Well, that kind of defies the purpose of a tabloid but dammit.

Harry has never mentioned that he reads the Quibbler, how was Draco to know this? Well, it’s done now.

“Oh?”

“You are on the front cover. With blue eyes.”

“Yes.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say, you git? I just found out that you are on the fucking front page of the Quibbler looking like a bloody sex worker and all you can say is ‘yes’?”

“Excuse me? A sex worker, Potter?”

“You made that face, okay? I just--you looked--why did you do that?”

“Luna said she wanted me to look unimpressed and maybe scowl a little.”

“Unimpressed, Malfoy, not ready to fuck someone the second the camera goes down.”

Draco can’t look away from Harry’s face, his flushed face and his wide wide green eyes and that heat crawling up his cheeks when he realizes what he’s said.

He has questions, of course. The most important one being ‘is that look all it took to unravel Harry this much?’, but he also has patience. For now, he wants to rile up his partner for almost embarrassing Draco by reading the fucking Quibbler when he never felt the need to before.

“I beg your pardon?”

And sure as hell, there’s that redness again, riding high on his cheeks. And those stupid eyes widen even more and just how the fuck are they this green?

“I--someone in the lobby said that.”

They both know that’s not true. Draco can see the panic written all across Harry’s face, panic that he’s revealed more than he should have.

“...Did they..?”

“Draco, you know how I said that sometimes you sound eerily like Snape? This is one of those times.”

Oh Salazar, this is proper entertainment right here. Harry Potter looking like he’s frightened, and Draco just wants to tell his younger self that one day in the future he will be able to make Harry Potter shake in his boots. And without much effort even, all he had to do was channel his inner broody potions master.

“Oh, really?”

“Would you stop doing that? You sound just like him and it’s throwing me off!”

“Is it bothering the one brain cell you have, Potter?”

And the next thing he knows the fucking Chosen One is launching himself at Draco and he lands horizontally without a single warning. His head thuds off the floor and leaves him with a bloody headache.

Now they’re both standing in the middle of the office, staring at each other. Harry has a streak of blood on his sleeve where his arm had landed against Draco’s nose and basically broken it. A quick _Episkey_ later, Draco is currently glaring at the Boy Wonder.

“Potter, do tell, what were you attempting to do?”

“I told you to stop talking like him!”

“So you decided to tackle me to the ground? The hard, concrete ground, might I add? That’s now given me a headache.”

“If you had stopped--”

“Learn to take a joke, you bloody Gryffindork!”

“What did you just say?”

“Oh, what are you going to do? Lunge at me, oh wait, you already did!”

“Gods, you’re so infuriating!”

“ _I_ am? Really, Potter? _I’m_ the one--”

“Yes, _you_ are the one--”

“STOP!”

They both whirl around to find the Minister for Magic standing in the open door of the office with a metaphorical cloud of rage furling behind him.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, do I need to remind you that this is the English Ministry for Magic and not your house? I have half the Ministry gossiping about how much like an old married couple you two are and the other half drooling over photos of you, Mr. Malfoy. Explain yourselves.”

He can feel it’s coming before Harry opens his mouth and makes a bad situation even worse, “We’re not an old married couple.”

That time, Draco does give in to the urge and facepalms loud enough that the sound of his palm hitting his forehead is enough to startle Harry.

Shacklebolt looks like he’s two seconds away from doing the exact same thing, but he somehow finds the self-control that Draco couldn’t even if he tried.

“Gentlemen, close the door the next time you decide to have a domestic.”

He’s gone before Harry can utter another idiotic response and make Draco push him out the window.

***

“--but it’s downright filthy, Hermione! I can’t believe Luna made him pose like that!”

“Harry, he’s fully clothed in the photo.”

“That’s not the point! He just--he looks--he’s doing that thing with his--urgh!”

“Use your words, Harry.”

“It’s immoral, that photo! Indecent and immoral!”

“And when was the last time you thought of Malfoy as moral? Not that I agree with you abou--”

“You think he’s immoral? That he hasn’t changed?”

“Harry, I didn’t say that. I don’t know him as well you do, and there’s a sentence I thought I’d never say about Draco Malfoy.”

“But do you think he’s still the same?”

“No, even from the half dozen times I’ve seen him, I can tell that he has become a much more, uh well, agreeable person. And Luna and Neville both swear that he’s an entirely different man now.”

“He is, in some ways, but not really. I mean, the difference is that before we only saw his faults because that’s the side he showed us and the side we wanted to see. Now, I know why he did what he did and how that’s made him who he is. He doesn’t think so, by the way, keeps insisting that he doesn’t have a heart of gold underneath.”

Hermione looks at him with a curious expression, her eyebrows knit in concentration before she softly asks him, “And what do you think?”

This is something he’s thought a lot about, in those hours before sleep inevitably takes over no matter how he resists.

“I think he has faults like every other human, like me and like you. Maybe he doesn’t have a heart of gold, after all, but maybe that’s because he was taught that having a heart is a weakness. He still makes questionable choices sometimes and the way he comes up with very original and very, very painful sounding threats is a constant source of headaches for me. But at the same time, the war has changed him just as much as it did the rest of us, if not more.”

“Harry, are you--do you think you might be--”

“I have to get back, Hermione. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

She looks worried, it brings him back to that year when that’s the look she wore most of the time. He offers her a small smile, she’s done enough worrying for him to last a lifetime and he doesn’t want her to worry anymore.

“I’ll let you know when I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

In the middle of this shitstorm that Draco has unleashed, Harry had somehow managed to completely forget about the reporter. It's so strange that no one has mentioned anything to him, all day. Not even one person has come up to him and told him how he's a disgrace or how he should go back to wherever he was for the last four years. That means the reporter didn't write anything about what he heard.

Then, it hits him: they didn't publish anything because they won't let him be himself. No, they want him to be the perfect wizard everyone has always made him out to be. Even if they now know, they'll pretend that Harry Potter is going to marry a woman and have a family someday because how can the Chosen One be anything but the perfect man they've always pretended he is.

Of course, why did he think he could have it any other way?

***

Pansy has sequestered the chaise in front of the fireplace and she refuses to budge. Draco had tried to tell her that he was too tired today to play their usual game of cat and mouse, after fielding questions about his modelling stunt all day long.

He hadn’t realized how fickle and childish Ministry officials are, they are almost like Hufflepuff girls from Hogwarts with their keen talent of finding Draco at the precise moment he didn’t want to be found and fawned over.

Twice, he’d been attacked in the lifts by hordes of women who suddenly found him to be handsome and charming when just a day ago, they would have wrinkled their noses at the Death Eater. It’s curious what a single photo in a newspaper can do.

Sighing, he brings his glass of firewhiskey and settles on the sofa next to the window. Pansy will not be leaving him alone in peace, it seems so he gives up trying in vain.

“So, how goes working with Potter?”

“Fine.”

“Fine? That’s all? You’re working in the same office with the bane of your existence and it’s going fine? Somehow I doubt that.”

“He’s not the bane of my existence, Pansy.”

“Tell that to someone who didn’t listen to you ranting about all his faults, 1 through 123. Or someone who didn’t see you making ‘Potter Stinks’ badges for the whole school, by hand.”

He hides his wince behind the glass clutched in his hand, but the cow shoots him a dirty grin as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“It was a schoolyard rivalry, that’s all.”

“That’s all? Potter was the reason you woke up at a decent time in the mornings, Draco. Just so you could go to breakfast and make fun of him.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh please, Draco, that first year you were literally spitting in people’s face with your little sneer and all the effort you put into saying ‘Potter!’ I mean I heard from several people that they got your spit on their face because of how angrily you said his name.”

“I did no such thing.”

He’s hoping that the incredulity in his voice will make her stop, but if anything, it only makes her look at him with an even sharper gaze, “You would take a good while just curling up your lips to make the perfect _‘ttt’_ sound, Draco. Who are you trying to convince here?”

“Why are we discussing this?”

“Because you made me lose a thousand galleons and I need to make sure that you’re not lying.”

“Lying about getting along with Harry to win a bit of gold? Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing, you caught me.”

She has that expression on her face, the trademark Slytherin expression: a predator stalking its prey.

_“'Harry?'”_

He looks away to feign nonchalance to throw her off the scent of blood she’s surely going to follow to the ends of the world.

“I work with the man, Pansy. It’s hardly practical to keep calling him by his last name.”

“So, you call Weasley and Granger by their first names too, then?”

“I share an office with him.”

“You shared an office with Weasley.”

“What are you getting at, Parkinson?”

She leans back into the sofa and raises a cold and calculated eyebrow at him. For a short moment, he feels like he’s out of his depth, like maybe he isn’t a Slytherin anymore.

Then, he chastises himself for thinking like the idiots whose minds he’s trying to change. Slytherins are not just rude and invasive, no they are much more. And Draco is as much a Slytherin now as he was at eleven, he just may have been heavily influenced by the Gryffindorks in his life currently.

“So I’m ‘Parkinson’ and he’s ‘Harry’?”

“Do you have a point or are you just attempting to get your galleons back by annoying me?”

“You’ve changed so much, Draco.”

“I have, so have you and so has every single person around us because that’s what people do: change with time. And if you’re trying to make me feel guilty for changing then--”

“If I was trying to make you feel guilty, I’d start with your brotherhood with Longbottom and how the two of you seem to know everything about each other. Or perhaps, with Loony Lovegood--”

“Don’t call her that.”

She ignores him and continues on her rant, “--who has somehow become your new girlfriend instead of me and for whom you pose for rags when you’ve turned down the _Prophet_ going on four years now. Or shall I start with Potter? Who you are so besotted with that you can’t even see that he’s just using you to show the world what a kind soul he is. Maybe he’s even made a pass at you, the idea of being bad and doing something forbidden must hold quite an appeal for the Golden Boy!”

Draco just stares at Abraxas who is busy sitting on top of Draco’s loafers and making sure they’re bent out shape and full of cat hair.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Draco, when those people decide that they’ve had their fun with the Death Eater. And they will, eventually, they’ll get tired of keeping you around and then you’ll be--”

“I’d like you to leave.”

He’s still not looking at her but from the corner of his eye, he can see her sitting up abruptly and staring at him. When he doesn’t fall for her silent treatment, she gets up.

“Draco?”

“Pansy, I need to be alone. I’ll see you later.”

She sighs and disapparates without a single word, no doubt thinking the Gryffindors have brainwashed him.

_Have they?_

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My, my, my, my, oh give me love,  
> My, my, my, my, oh give me love. 
> 
> I need comments. Please. Thank you.


	15. You and I get sick, I know that we can't do this no more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another drop in the ocean of angst I plan on drowning you all in. :)

After closing another investigation into yet another murder over money and property, Draco and he are writing their reports when a wild Kingsley appears. He wants them to attend a Ministry gala for some charity or another, says them showing up with each other will promote the Ministry’s decision to team them together.

Kingsley’s just stepped out the door when Draco slumps into his seat with a long groan, Harry’s sure the blond would never even entertain the possibility of making such an undignified noise if they hadn’t been awake for 42 hours straight chasing a murderer around dark alleys.

“Why do I have to go? Surely, the presence of the Saviour should be enough.”

“Every hero needs a side-kick, Draco.”

“Fuck you, Potter. I am nobody’s side-kick.”

After a considerable amount of moaning and whining on Draco’s part, they floo to their respective places to change and meet outside the gala in twenty minutes.

When he appears outside the event, he finds Draco already waiting in his formal robes and a face that says, _‘Do not even breathe in my direction’_.

“If it wasn’t for you, I could be in bed sleeping right now.”

Harry just pulls on Draco’s sleeve to drag him along, as large groups of people hang about the garden deep in conversation.

“Unhand me, you heathen! This is pure satin!”

Harry pulls back his hand when a few of the guests turn around at the loud disturbance of their argument.

"Can you say any louder? I don't think they heard you in SCOTLAND!"

“I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Will you grumble your way through the entire night?”

This time, his partner doesn’t whine or say anything. All he does is huff and puff like a child, when suddenly Harry feels a hand on his arm. Draco’s fingers are digging into Harry’s forearm and he looks paler than usual, if that’s even possible.

“Oh, Salazar’s toes! What’s _he_ doing here?”

Harry winces as Draco’s fingers dig even deeper into flesh, it almost feels like someone is clawing at his arm, “Who?”

“Oh for--I knew I shouldn’t have come tonight!” 

“What are you--”

“I shouldn’t have come! I shouldn’t--”

“Oi, towhead! Are you listening?”

Draco’s head snaps away from the wall he was just now admiring while mumbling to himself, and his eyes pierce right through Harry. He doesn’t say anything but the look on his face tells Harry everything he’s not saying, quite clearly: Harry, who survived the wrath of a noseless, mass-murdering megalomaniac at least twice, will die at the hands of an infuriatingly repressed 24-year old blond if he ever uses that name to refer to said blond again.

_Message received, loud and clear._

“Draco, who are you talking--”

A tall man dressed in robes just like Draco’s comes to a stop in front of them and interrupts Harry mid-sentence. From the stiff posture, it’s clear he’s either a pure-blood wizard or some ambassador or someone important.

“Draco, I had no idea you were going to be here. What a lovely surprise!”

“Sir Talbot, how do you do?”

Draco tilts his head, almost mimicking a bow if a Malfoy ever could bow to someone. His pale neck stands out against his dark robes and Harry really shouldn’t have gulped down the firewhiskey he did before flooing here.

“Oh please, call me William. I’ve already asked you so many times.”

“William, then.”

“And who’s this gentleman with you?”

“Oh, do excuse my manners. WIlliam, meet Harry Potter. We are working together on a case.”

The man turns to finally face Harry, as if he’s just now noticed him. Harry’s not getting a very good feeling about whoever this person is. But of course, he’s representing the Ministry here so he pastes a polite smile on his lips.

“How do you do, Mr. Potter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you. Mr. Talbot, was it?”

“Oh please, do call me William. Say, what is it like working with Draco?”

The use of Draco’s first name pinches him. He hadn’t let Harry call him that without incessant arguing so who is this person who keeps referring to him with such familiarity?

_Really shouldn’t have drank that firewhiskey._

“It’s quite nice, he is very good at his work.”

“Oh I’m sure he is, I meant how does it feel being in his company so often? Mind you, I have told him he wouldn’t need to work after we’re married.”

If he were holding anything, it’d be on the floor right about now broken into a thousand pieces.

“Excuse me, you--erm, m-married?”

“Oh yes, I have asked for his hand in marriage. Twice.”

Draco doesn’t even bother looking at the dark-haired man who has supposedly proposed to him. Harry is completely and utterly lost. Draco is engaged to this man? He is supposed to marry this man?

In the middle of having his entire world shaken up, he remembers something.

_Courtesy of Lord William Attenborough-Talbot_

He looks up to find Draco now deep in conversation with his supposed fiance, and that thought is enough to send Harry reeling to the floor but thankfully, Kingsley comes over and whisks him away to meet some other Ministry official or someone.

Harry gladly follows him without bothering to check if Draco has even noticed his absence or if he’s too absorbed in his conversation with this twat who sends him gigantic bouquets with extremely corny notes on a weekly basis.

He could bring Draco flowers, he could bring a better bouquet than that twat ever could. And he could write a much better note than _You’re a Firebolt amongst Cleansweeps._ Of course, he could.

“Harry?”

The Irish Chancellor is looking at him expectantly while Harry blinks himself out of that monologue in the middle of a conversation he's supposed to be having.

“Erm, yes?”

“You were saying about the dragon reserve in Romania?”

“Yes, yeah. Charlie Weasley works there and he is one of the best people I know.”

Kingsley nods his head and launches into a spiel about England’s contribution to the preservation of magical creatures. He mentions Hermione a few times and her efforts at bringing about new legislation. She will be very happy to hear that the English Minister for Magic mentioned her by name in front of several international leaders--

_How rich is he, anyway? So, he’s a lord but it could just be a title, doesn’t mean he’s wealthy._

Harry has quite a fortune, if he does say so himself. His parents had left him enough and he had made quite a lot on his own, so he is definitely well off.

Maybe not as much as a Lord, but he has enough that he doesn’t have to work for another day if he doesn’t want to. He has enough to sustain himself, and to give Draco a pleasant life--

“Harry, are you alright?”

He looks up to find Kingsley looking at him curiously. Apparently, he wandered off mid-conversation again.

“Erm, pardon me, I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep. The case we were working took about 40 hours and--”

“Well then, you should’ve said so.” Kingsley looks like he’s about to reprimand him in front of Ambassadors and Chancellors.

“It’s alright, I can--”

“I wanted you here so you could meet some of our allies as it may be beneficial to be acquainted. But I didn’t want you to lose sleep or get ill.”

“Minister, I can stay.”

“You and Mr. Malfoy should head home.”

Kingsley’s tone warrants no argument so Harry says his goodbyes and goes to tell Draco they can leave.

_If he wants to part from his fiance, that is._

Irritation sizzling close to the surface, he walks over to Draco who’s in conversation with a young wizard Harry thinks works at Hermione’s office. Draco sees him coming and waves, he looks like he’s had as much to drink as Harry has which is a lot.

He makes quick work of shaking the young wizard’s hand, still thinking about the twat who’s sending his partner flowers twice a week along with cheeky notes and who is apparently going to marry Draco Malfoy.

_Is he doing it for money? Or maybe he’s doing it for the Malfoy reputation? Will marrying a lord help Draco improve his family’s lost reputation? Is that why he’s doing it because he never said anything about getting married, and he didn’t seem pleased to see his fiance here._

In his current state, he isn’t sure he won’t say something he’ll later regret. This game that they’ve been playing, the quiet looks and the denial they’ve both mastered by now, Harry’s afraid he’ll say something to bring it all tumbling down around them.

He can’t think rationally when he’s this pissed, can’t think of a single reason why they should be pretending like Harry didn’t drunkenly tell Draco just how much Harry wants him. There’s no explanation as to why Draco would tell him he’ll risk his life for Harry - for his eyes - he’d said, and then pretend like he’d never said it.

So, he says what he has to say and walks away, “Kingsley says we can go. I’m heading out.”

“Wait, Harry!”

He stops walking but doesn’t turn around. All he wants is to go to his hotel room and be alone. So he can think about this unexpected shitstorm that has hit his life with no warning whatsoever.

_Is this why Draco has always pushed me away?_

But what about those time when he looked at Harry like he wanted the same thing? What about the times when their eyes had met across a room and neither of them could look away? What about that time when Harry’s mouth was a breath away from Draco’s and the blond had pulled away only a second before as if he’d suddenly broken out of a trance? Or that time when Draco had drunkenly told Harry that he would risk to life to save Harry’s? Or that time he actually had?

Draco pulls at his sleeve to break him from his thoughts, his glass of whiskey is missing and he’s looking at Harry with concern brimming in his eyes.

_Maybe I misread things. Maybe he was just being a good mate. Maybe I should be a good mate, for once._

“Are you alright, Potter?”

“I’m fine, are you leaving too?”

“I only came here because you insisted, and I wish I hadn’t.”

They walk toward the floo in silence. Harry’s head is swimming with firewhiskey and unanswered questions, and that’s never a good combination.

“You never mentioned you’re engaged.”

“I’m not.”

His feet stop moving of their own accord. Draco, who keeps walking without noticing this, looks around and finally sees Harry rooted to the ground behind him.

“But that man said--”

“Oh, do keep up, Potter. He has proposed to me, yes, but I haven’t yet given him an answer.”

Dread and hope coil up in his chest, a most deadly combination.

“Why?”

“Why, indeed. He has money, oceans of galleons. A prestigious family name. Hmm, maybe I should say yes.”

***

“All prim and proper, like. All ‘how do you, Mr. Potter?’ and I almost asked him, how do I do _what_ , you twat?”

Neville stifles his laughter behind his hand but Harry notices. Of course, he notices, he’s an auror, for Merlin’s sake. And he is not the most unobservant person ever, no matter what certain people think.

“Why are you laughing, Nev? Are you laughing at me?”

It takes him two seconds to put on his _puppy soaked in rain_ look that he may or may not have mastered sometime in his first four years of life. Neville’s face quickly transforms into that of a guilt ridden mate.

“No, Harry, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just--”

“It’s funny, I know. The way that I’ve managed to fall for my first real enemy, the one person who could always get under my skin, and a man being courted by a bloody lord, all at once.”

“Harry, you do know Draco hasn’t given him an answer yet, right?”

“But he will, won’t he? Because that twat is just like Draco, all refined and elegant. And he speaks like Draco too, like he’s got bloody peacock balls under his tongue.”

Neville bursts out laughing again and Harry could really use a mate helping him rather than laughing at his fate.

“He walks like the Malfoys too, y’know. Like he’s got a stick up his arse. He’s someone Lucius Malfoy would approve of, surely. He’s got manners and money, he’s almost like them already.”

“Harry--”

“He would never approve of me, Lucius would, not that I particularly care. But I’m always bumping into things and stumbling and stuttering, I’m so far beneath his son, for sure.”

“That’s not--”

“I don’t think Lucius or Narcissa would think that I deserve their son.”

“Draco doesn’t care anymore what Lucius thinks, so why should you?”

“I don’t care but that doesn’t change the fact that someone like Lord Toff McPoshborough would fit right in with the Malfoys, all elegant and graceful with their bloody albino peacocks. You know how many times I’ve been wool gathering and walked straight into a wall or a person since this morning? Five.”

Neville is doing a very poor job of not laughing at his misfortunes, Harry’s wondering if he should have called Luna instead. Luna, who made Draco pose in the most obscene way with those smouldering eyes and that fucking finger--no. Can’t think about that now.

“And that’s not counting the ones that saw me heading straight for them and jumped out of the way.”

“You’re making yourself sound like a bulldozer.”

“The point is that I can never be as fancy or polished as some bloody lord. Draco would obviously be more interested in him.”

“Are you done moping about?”

“‘m not moping, Neville. I’m just cursing my luck. Out of all the people throwing themselves at me, the one that I want will never want me back.”

“You are so fucking depressing when you’re drunk, Harry. It’s not the end of the world, mate.”

“Might as well be, Nev. Might as well be.” 

***

Harry can’t get Draco’s words out of his mind. 

_Maybe I should say yes._

He had gone back to his hotel room after parting from Neville, and found the new broom he’d bought a few weeks ago and flown around while completely drunk because that was the only way he could express the extreme relief he’d felt when Draco had told him that he wasn’t engaged to any lords.

Of course, he couldn’t let himself show that relief on his face while his partner was watching. And of course, there wasn’t anyone he could share it like an actual person would so the only way to stop himself from doing something stupid was to bid Draco goodnight and go for a long broom-ride. Oh, and rant to Neville for a bit in between. Not that that helped any.

The cool wind whipping across his face and the view from up there had always been one of Harry’s favourite things about magic.

That was on Wednesday.

It’s Friday, Harry is almost falling asleep at his desk and Draco is furiously scribbling their most recent case report, after he’d banished Harry from even touching a quill.

“I had better handwriting as a five-year old, Potter.”

So now, he’s resting his head on his arms on top of his desk and trying to think of anything except what it means for him that the news of Draco’s engagement had made him so angry.

“Will you sit up? You’re making me sleepy too.”

He peeks up, chin settled over his folded arms and finds Draco glaring at him.

“Are you done?”

“I’ve only just finished the first heading.”

“Heading? You’re writing headings in your case report. Merlin, you really are the male version of Hermione!”

“Shut it, Potter.”

He smiles and goes back to his very dangerous thoughts involving his git of a partner.

_What if he does say yes to that twat? What if he really doesn’t know that Harry is interested, what if he thinks Harry’s only joking--_

“Harry!”

He jumps in shock and falls out of his chair. Ready to hex anyone and everyone, he looks up to find Ron cackling like a maniac while Draco at least tries to stifle his laughter at Harry’s misery.

“That’s revenge for last time, Harry. So you don’t feel like doing it to me again.”

“Ron, you--”

Ron Weasley rolls his eyes and turns his back to Harry.

“I actually came here to speak to you, Malfoy.”

The blond doesn’t even look up from his parchment, a bony hand absently gestures at Ron to go on.

“Well, uh--do you remember that wizard we met when we were interviewing witnesses at the Potions shop? That dark haired one you said you might…”

The way Ron clears his throat obviously shows that he isn’t entirely comfortable with whatever he is implying.

“Mmmhm.”

“I saw him again today and he uh--well, he asked me if you were single.”

Draco’s quill stops moving but he still doesn’t look up from his parchment.

Harry can feel his heart in his throat.

“I think he wants to ask you out but is scared of asking you himself.”

“So tell him I am.”

Harry turns around to pick up his chair and set it right, he’s not sure he can mask the gnawing disappointment and a million other things he’s feeling right now. He’s not sure Draco won’t read it all on his face if he takes one look.

“Okay, will do. See you at dinner, Harry.”

He nods at Ron and settles back at his desk. He can feel Draco’s eyes on him every now and then but Harry really can’t look him in the eye. Not when he’s so close to doing something he can’t take back.

***

It’s really exhausting, the way he and Draco are with each other. The waves of nerve wracking intensity followed by utter silence and a peaceful pretending routine, it’s maddening.

Sometimes, Harry wants to pull his hair out when he remembers everything that’s happened between them in the last few months and just how easily they pretend that it didn’t.

When Draco is lecturing him about something mundane like robe fabrics, Harry just wants to scream at the top of his lungs, ‘Have you forgotten when I told you how much I want you? Have you forgotten that night I almost kissed you? Have you forgotten what you said to me just last night?’

In reality, of course he just takes a deep breath and convinces himself that it’s not a good idea to mess up the peace and balance they’ve reached after a decade of animosity. And of course, it always stays like a constant itch under his skin, the frustration and the helplessness.

So instead, he sits there and makes fun of Draco’s dedication toward fabric. And then when he’s alone, he pops into 12 Grimmauld Place and sits in Sirius’ old room and talks as if his godfather is there and interested in hearing about his rapid descent into insanity thanks to one Draco Malfoy.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love feedback, you were all so fucking nice last time. Let's do another one!


	16. We built it up so high and now I'm falling, it's a long way down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, excuse my extended absence from this fic. Life got in the way - I got a new job and the training is very intense so I've hardly had the time to edit and post more chapters. Now this one is sort of the end of the angst, things are close to being resolved. I'm not saying it's all over, I'm just saying frustrations are running high and someone's going to snap. Okay, go forth!

There’s someone suspected of performing dark magic quite heavily and Shacklebolt wants Harry and him to talk to the wizard. _‘Talk’_ , he had almost snorted and made an undignified sound right in front of the Minister because you don’t talk to someone performing dark magic on the daily.

Harry had been equally naive and nodded along to Shacklebolt’s instruction. Draco, who has seen all sorts of mentally imbalanced wizards in his 23 years of life, is wary at best and ready for a duel at the worst.

“Why are you taking that wand holster with you?”

_Salazar, the one time Harry Potter notices something, it has to be now._

“Just in case.”

“Just in case of what?”

“Duel.”

“Draco, this is a teenager. Kingsley said--”

“I know of quite a few teenaged wizards with a penchant for dark magic and what they ended up being. I know what I’m doing, Potter.”

That warrants no argument and Potter actually looks more alert when they arrive outside the villa. The elf who answers the door invites them in and goes to fetch _Master Theodore, sir._

Master Theodore is more an ill-behaved brat than a dangerous wizard, but Draco was like that once so he knows just how little it takes to provoke someone like that. If he had his way, he'd push the little cretin onto a chair and loom over him while explaining in very clear words, what happens to little boys who think they can rule the world with dark magic. 

Mostly, he stands to the side and resists rolling his eyes at every work out of this spoiled child’s mouth.

“Harry Potter, The Chosen One. The Saviour, ever heard of a comb? That mess you call hair should be--”

Draco’s thoughts stutter to a stop with a loud screech of -- _wait, what? You what? How fuckin dare--I don’t think so, child._

“As opposed to your very pristine haircut, is it?”

The pig nosed bastard turns to face Draco with a sneer on his face. It almost makes him laugh. Draco could sneer better than that before he’d even learned speaking.

“Ah, Draco Malfoy: the reformed Death Eater. So why did you have a change of heart, Draco? Don’t tell me it was the Golden Boy here, making the world a better place one Death Eater at a time.”

“It was more about a mentally unstable, noseless twat threatening to kill my parents if I didn’t murder innocent people. Can’t say Potter here had anything to do with it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Harry’s jaw dropping. Draco has half a mind to reach out and close his mouth but the fact that he’s tempted to touch Harry probably solely because of the presence of this twat is disturbing. What's also disturbing is how much it bothered him to see an acne prone teenager insulting Harry's hair. He’ll think on that when he gets home.

In the meantime, “We need your wand to check for any suspicious magic.”

“You’re not getting it.”

“That was not a request.”

“So are you the Ministry’s new lap dog, then?”

“I suggest you think very carefully what you’re about to say next. I may be with the Ministry now but Lucius Malfoy taught me everything I know about dark magic and believe me when I say, _you do not want me to hex you._ ”

The boy takes an unconscious step back and Draco can’t help the little sneer that overrides his usual instinct to have a blank face. Harry is also staring at him, probably thinking about Hogwarts and all the times this face was directed at him.

Draco has no time for sentimental crap right now.

“Your. Wand.”

This time without an argument, a lean wand lands in his outstretched hand. If he was a bigger man, Draco wouldn't feel the enormous rush of victory at beating a teenager in an argument. 

Shacklebolt pats him on the shoulder when he gets back, invitation to yet another Ministry function waiting on their desks.

At least this one is a ball, so there won’t be aurors stuffing their faces and gossipy witches starting rumours. It’s got a dress code, even.

“Finally an event worth going to.”

***

Thanks to the four shots of firewhiskey, Harry can’t feel a lot right now. Really everything he’s feeling can be surmised in one word: Draco.

Draco is beautiful any day of the week but today, he is particularly striking. He’s still wearing his robes from the function, his robes with the row of infinite buttons that have been driving Harry mad ever since he saw them. He wants to to yank open the robes just to hear the sound of those buttons hitting the floor.

“Harry?”

He snatches his eyes away and looks up to find Draco watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes are shining like molten silver and they’re pulling him in like a fish on a line, desperate for a breath all the while knowing that it’s over already.

And then the next second, Draco isn’t looking at him anymore.

“Yeah?”

“I need to brew a potion. It’s--well, it’s urgent.”

“Can I watch?”

That one blond eyebrow almost disappears into an equally blond head.

“I don’t want to apparate while I’m so pissed.”

A long suffering sigh later, Draco turns around and starts walking without even looking back.

He leads Harry down a long corridor and into a darkly lit room that smells like Snape’s potions classroom if Harry’s being honest. His feet stop just over the threshold as the smell overwhelms his senses, it’s like being back in time and in Hogwarts.

“Coming?”

Shaking his head to clear the obviously drunk thoughts, Harry walks in and almost jumps a feet into the air as the door slams shut behind him.

“You have a potions lab in your flat?”

“It’s my first love, Potter. Don’t you dare say anything about it.”

He raises his hands in front of him in surrender, Draco’s voice has got that threatening edge to it that Harry remembers rather well from their childhood.

“I was just asking.”

He finds a chair sitting at one end of the stone slab and settles there while Draco roots around collecting ingredients for whatever potion it is that he’s brewing.

“Are you sure you can brew when you’re sloshed?”

“I could make this with my eyes closed and a hand tied behind my back.”

This kind of confidence, or overconfidence really, would make eleven-year old Harry want to hit a young Malfoy for his arrogance. Now, he finds it unbearably hot that Draco knows potions well enough to brag like this.

And he looks every bit an expert as he turns on the burner and places a lead cauldron on top of it, all the while rooting through a silk bag. He hasn’t even had to look at the burner or the cauldron to make sure he’s doing it right.

Harry would’ve burned the cauldron or his fingers even if he was staring right at it.

He feels a quick pulse of heat down his spine as Draco’s fingers wrap around a glass stirring rod while he pours distilled water in the hot cauldron with practiced precision.

“What are you brewing?”

“It’s a sleeping draught.”

“You need a sleeping draught?”

“It’s for a friend.”

“Oh.”

Silence stretches between them as Draco moves about the slab picking up sprigs of lavender, the smell overpowering any other scent for a moment as pale fingers wrap around the dark flower.

Harry gets up off the chair to take a closer look at the shelves on the opposite wall, with glass jars occupying every surface. Harry was never very good at potions, due in a large part to the person teaching them the subject.

Here in Draco’s lab, he feels comfortable around the jars of _bat spleen_ and _black beetle eyes_. He doesn’t even realize he’s walking along the wall reading the labels written in elaborately loopy handwriting.

“You have some of the rarest ingredients here.”

“Father left me quite a collection.”

Silently, Harry moves on to the next shelf to find _ashwinder eggs_ placed next to a vial of _dragon blood_. That makes him turn around and watch Draco instead.

Draco, whose fingers are confidently wrapped around a knife, slicing up _valerian sprigs_. Draco, who doesn’t even seem to notice Harry’s presence he’s so lost in his potion. Draco, who looks absolutely in his element and it’s making heat prickle over Harry’s skin.

“Is that _moonstone_?”

The long fingers wrapped around the handle of the knife stop mid-air.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know any sleeping draughts needed _moonstone_.”

Draco doesn’t answer him straight away, rather focusing on his potion and the way his brows furrow in concentration just does something to Harry.

He should stop. He should distract himself, he should think of--

“Snape made me write twelve inches on _moonstone_ in the fifth year.”

Draco hums at his admission but doesn’t offer a response any more than that, instead choosing to grip the stirring rod and beginning to stir with a rather particular expression of concentration on his face.

Harry knows he’s staring but he can’t help himself when Draco finally looks like the Malfoy from Hogwarts, who used to frown just like this when concentrating on a particularly difficult spell. He also used to bite his lip just like that.

Sharp teeth are biting down on pink flesh mercilessly and Harry has no control whatsoever over his feet. It’s only when he finds himself standing behind Draco that he realizes he has even moved.

***

Draco needs to get this potion right without making Harry suspicious. No one knows who is brewing the new _wolfsbane_ potion because he wanted to keep it that way before he could know for sure that there wouldn’t be any side-effects.

Mrs. Dawlish had somehow convinced him to brew the potion for her son against Draco’s will. She had shown him scratches on the young boy’s body from a night of self harm as he tried to resist the change and Draco had wordlessly handed her the vial without even bothering to ask how she knew he was the one brewing the potion everyone was talking about.

That’s how he’s ended up here: brewing an emergency _wolfsbane_ potion for the full moon in four days, with Harry Potter as his audience.

Harry Potter, who is thoroughly drunk and will likely not remember anything about the brewing. Draco knows this because for the better part of the evening, Harry had a goblet of whiskey in hand and his conversations became increasingly like the ramblings of a fourteen-year old until Draco just couldn’t take it anymore and apparated them to his flat, only to find a floo message from Mrs. Dawlish waiting for him.

He’s not sure why Harry’s still here, he should be in his hotel room sleeping off the firewhiskey. Instead, he had asked if he could stay and watch Draco brew a potion and those fucking _green green_ eyes staring into his with hope had made him give in.

He knew it was a bad idea the second he found himself looking at Harry after his weird request but he was hoping that just like the other times, Harry would pretend there was nothing happening between them.

Sure, it drove Draco crazy to be around Harry and bury the burning attraction, the want, the need, the yearning and the longing but they’d developed a pattern by now. Every time it seemed like something might happen or they might cross that imaginary line, one of them found the strength to pull back. So naturally, Draco was relying on that tonight when he invited Harry to his lab.

What he hadn’t taken into account was just how drunk Harry was and how that made pulling back a little harder for them both. He could see the lowered inhibitions in Harry’s eyes every time they locked eyes. The green orbs were shining with heat and desire and Circe, Draco needed to not get lost in them. Every time he found himself looking at Harry watching him back, he could almost feel the lust, the unquenchable thirst clouding his every thought.

Which brings them to now, Harry is staring at Draco unabashedly from across the room. He’s finding it hard to concentrate when he can feel those damned eyes following his every movement, and he needs to get this potion right. He can’t risk even a pinch of inaccuracy but Harry’s constant gaze is making Draco feel like he’s in the middle of a desert with the sun shining brightly on him, he can feel a drop of sweat trickling down the back of his neck.

When Harry moves from his spot, Draco quickly finishes putting in the crushed _moonstone_ and finally all the ingredients are in. Just have to stir for ten minutes now and then he no longer has to stand here under the heat of Harry’s eyes raking across his body in a frankly obscene manner.

He’s on the third stir when he feels a long line of heat along his back and a warm breath on his neck, the stirring rod almost slips from his fingers at the realization that Harry’s standing behind him: close enough to touch, to feel his heat even through the layers of their robes.

Afraid that he might make an embarrassing sound if he opens his mouth, Draco quietly keeps stirring the potion with a forced concentration. He has to do ten clockwise and then ten counter-clockwise rotations, in three sets and then he’ll be done and he can walk away from the maddening heat along his back.

He’s on the second rotation when he feels a ghost of fingers along his sides and he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. Gods, he hasn’t been touched in forever and even then, never like this. He’s about to protest when Harry steps even closer and Draco can make out the broad chest against his own back, legs touching the back of his thighs and knees and a single finger tracing along his right hip-bone. Merlin, he feels like he’s on fire and Harry is hardly even touching him.

_Wait, Harry’s touching him._

“What are you doing?”

It was supposed to come out confident and judgemental but it sounds soft, whispered like no one else is supposed to hear it but the two of them.

“Don’t stop stirring.”

Harry’s breath is warm against his already heated skin when he speaks, his voice rough like he’s struggling to get the words out and Draco should push him away, he should--

The hand that curls around his hip is broad and big, thick fingers digging into flesh as the breath against his ear becomes laboured and more of rough wheeze like Harry’s the one struggling to breathe here and Draco almost forgets to change the stirring from counterclockwise to clockwise.

Then, Harry shifts behind him and Salazar, he’s pressed against Draco from shoulder to thighs, the pressure is beautiful and punishing at the same time as the stone slab digs into his stomach almost painfully but at the same time, Harry’s panting into his ear now and he can’t think of anything else right now.

The hand on his hip wanders upwards over his navel and his chest till Harry settles it over his shoulder and without a warning pulls Draco against his chest and gods, he’s hard and hot and breathing so roughly right into Draco’s ear as his lips trace around the earlobe--

“Harry….”

“Don’t ruin your potion.”

He has to bite down on his lip even harder to stifle the noises he can feel bubbling up his chest as Harry’s arm tightens around his chest which puts them even closer to each other, barely an inch between their bodies and Draco can feel the hardness against his back, it’s taking everything he has to not push back against Harry’s body, to not--

Merlin, that’s a wet tongue on his ear, on his neck now licking a broad strip up heated skin and just how is he supposed to resist when Harry won’t stop moaning in a broken voice like it’s physically hurting him to touch Draco like this, to finally do what they’ve both been stopping themselves from for months.

“Draco.”

Just that one word and his world almost comes apart, he’s holding on with the barest thread because Harry won’t say anything else but just that one word is enough to convey just how much he wants this.

_Sex, that’s all he wants. To fuck you behind closed doors and then go back to France and marry a girl and have a family and never think about you again._

“Harry, stop.”

Sharp teeth trace a pattern on the back of his neck, just this side of biting and for a second, Draco puts his thoughts on hold. But, his brain has never been good at following orders.

_He’ll never want anything more than a fuck. Maybe you’ll be his dirty little secret, the bent experiment of the Boy Who Lived. Maybe he’ll even come back for more when he’s pissed and can’t bother to find a girl for the night--_

“Stop.”

Harry stumbles back when Draco pushes him, his face is morphed into an expression of shock and confusion. There’s hurt written in those damn eyes as he balances himself on the shelf and looks at Draco like his whole world has shattered around his ears.

As if.

“Draco--”

“You should go home.”

“But why? You want the same thing--”

“No, I don’t. I want you to leave.”

Harry looks dejected, his eyes wide with an emotion Draco knows all too well but he can’t do this when he knows he’ll end up getting hurt if he doesn’t stop now.

With his jaw set firmly, he waits for Harry to move. They stand like that for a moment too long, just staring at each other like that’s going to solve anything.

Harry’s eyes are still boring into Draco’s when his feet move forward. He’s taking an unconscious step forward, with his arm outstretched to touch and Draco can’t do this so he takes a step back.

Nothing more is said between them.

Harry turns around and disappears with a loud crack.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me just yet. The resolution is coming, I promise. In the meantime, feel free to curse me out in the comments.


	17. My heart's already breaking, go on twist the knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aand SNAP! 
> 
> I am quite proud of the way this chapter turned out, hopefully you'll all feel the same way.

Harry is expecting Draco to bring up what happened on Sunday, because surely this time was much different than all the other times when one of them almost crossed the line and they never talked about it.

Harry was so sure that Draco would bring it up on Monday morning.

He doesn’t.

So, after three hours of waiting and watching Draco for any signs of distress, Harry can’t take it anymore. He gets out of his chair and walks over to Draco’s desk.

The blond doesn’t seem to be paying him any attention, so Harry walks around the desk a bit, drumming his fingers on the wood. Draco still doesn’t respond and Harry’s sure that he is being avoided.

When he sits down on top of Draco’s desk, the git finally drops his quill with a sigh and finally looks up at Harry. His eyes are red-rimmed like he didn’t get much sleep last night. Harry can relate to that all too well.

“What do you want, Harry?”

In a moment of pure Gryffindor chivalry, Harry admits to himself what he wants without alcohol clouding his mind or lowering his inhibitions: Draco, anything and everything with Draco.

“You know what I want.”

Draco looks away and closes his eyes, like he was dreading this would happen. He doesn’t say anything for a good minute and Harry just sits there on top of his desk, silently waiting for an answer.

“I gave you my answer last night.”

Harry had thought that it was because they were both pissed that Draco had pushed him away. And that he was embarrassed about being pissed and that’s why he hadn’t brought it up this morning. For some stupid reason, he hadn’t even considered the possibility that Draco actually meant it when he said he didn’t want Harry. It doesn’t make any sense.

“I don't understand."

"Which part of 'no' don't you understand?"

"That's not--"

"I told you: I can't."

"Can't? You can't? You were trembling under my hands yesterday and now you can't? Can't or won't, Draco?"

"Really, what part of this are you struggling with?"

“The part where you told me you would risk death to save me, and then you did. The part where you’ve bared your soul to me countless times. The part wher--”

“You misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood? I misunderstood? Which part of the last four months did I misunderstand, Draco?”

“I just can’t do this, Harry.”

Without another word, he gets up and walks away from Draco’s desk and towards the door. He can’t be here right now.

A flash of anger makes him stop just inside the door. He knows that he’s not the most observant person, and he’s certainly nowhere near as smart as Hermione or Draco, but he’s not an idiot either.

He knows that he hasn’t misread this situation. He knows what he feels and he can’t have misread what he saw in Draco’s eyes all those times. So, if Draco Malfoy is going to stand there and pretend that Harry has somehow gone and gotten unfounded ideas, then Harry is going to save himself any further humiliation.

He turns around and walks back up to stand in front of Draco.

"I can't do this either, then."

"What? Be a co-worker?"

_Merlin, how had he ever forgotten that Draco Malfoy is and always will be a Slytherin? That he can always say the most hurtful things with a straight face._

"Is that all I am to you?"

"No but--"

"I won't do this to myself, Draco. We’ve played this game long enough, this pushing and pulling, and I just won’t do this to myself anymore. I know now what I almost had and what's missing."

He can see Draco’s expression getting replaced by that mask of indifference and that hurts more than anything. He feels like he has to wrench emotions out of Draco, has to force him to show Harry how he feels. It makes him feel insignificant that Draco won’t even be honest with him without being forced.

“What do you suggest, then?”

He wants to step forward and pull Draco to himself and just stand here for as long as his legs will hold him up. But Draco has made it quite clear that he doesn’t want that so there’s really only one thing Harry can do now.

“Tell Kingsley we’re done.”

Draco’s face remains blank.

Harry can feel his world tilting on its axis, turning upside down really and the person who’s done it is standing in front of him looking bored. If he hadn’t spent the last few months around Draco, he would’ve thought the man didn’t care at all.

But he did spend all that time around Draco, spent that time getting to know him and falling for him and that’s why he can see the sadness in his eyes. Harry can see the light that’s gone from those dead grey eyes and he knows that Draco is affected just as much but he doesn’t understand why the blond won’t stop him, why he’s letting this happen.

“Okay.”

Gods, months of being stuck with this git, of learning the most intimate secrets of his and revealing his own in return, of seeing just how flawed he is and yet so perfect, being smitten by the pointy git and this is how it ends.

“Okay.”

***

He goes to the Ministry in the dead of the night, even the witch at the main desk looks like she’s been asleep all her shift. He nods at her while passing by and she rewards him with a bored turn of the head.

Even though he knows that Harry’s not here - that’s why he’s come at this time - a small part of him expects to see him in the office. More than expects, it wants to see him.

Of course, Harry is not asleep on the sofa like that first night. Neither is he at his desk. The empty room is almost taunting Draco, mocking him for the marvelous job he’s done of pushing away the one person who was willing to see him for who he is.

Oh well, this isn’t the first time Draco’s had to live through the agonising pain of losing a loved one. He’s almost a master at it by now.

With his back to Harry’s half of the office, he gets to work with his wand and packs up his personal belongings. Some things he has to stop and look at, things that were just possessions some time ago but are now invaluable for the memories they hold.

The half dozen quills Draco went through in the first few weeks working with Harry, because he’d break them in frustration so often and throw them in that drawer reserved for knick knacks. The stupid paper planes Harry would enchant to fly over to him, with silly drawings of ferrets on broomsticks - mockery of the drawing Draco had once made for Harry in Hogwarts. 

The sofa that’s half littered with Harry’s rumpled robes and even a pair of socks buried under there somewhere, with the other half occupied by Draco’s neatly folded robes.

The muggle contraption for removing cat hair from clothes that Abraxas always so generously bestowes upon him. Harry had bought it for Draco because he hadn’t known what it was called even though he did know that such a thing existed. Draco hasn’t been as ignorant to the muggle world in the last few years, his father would be appalled if he knew.

Then there was the tall chair in the corner Draco had bought as a joke because Harry was so short and his feet didn’t even reach the floor when he sat on it. Once when Harry had been absolutely hammered, Draco had apparated them here and Harry had immediately gone to the corner to try and climb up onto it. In his drunken state, he was all elbows and knees and it’d taken him five minutes to actually sit down on the chair.

Harry had looked absolutely livid at being made fun of like that and Draco had tried so hard to not react. The idiot had looked so adorable perched up on that chair with his feet dangling in the air, cute even, he dare say.

Gods, this room is like a mausoleum.

He quickly shrinks his belongings and puts them in his pockets before leaving the files in a pile next to Harry’s desk. Without another look around, he walks out of the room to never return.

***

Pansy finds him a few hours later, drowning in a bottle of Ogden’s finest.

Sprawled over the chaise his mother brought in her dowry, he’s dead to the world and even Abraxas hasn’t been able to get his attention tonight which has more than irritated the hairy bastard.

“Draco?”

He tries to sit up to face her but fails spectacularly and almost hits his head on the floor. She rushes forward just in time to catch him and her face twists in displeasure, that’ll be the alcohol on his breath.

“What’s happened? Are you okay?”

“‘m fine.”

“Is that why you were lying arse up on the sofa?”

“It’s a chaise, Pansy. Mother brought it to the Manor in her wedding, the Blacks always had perfect taste. Except when they raised their children to kill muggles and that time they encouraged that noseless twat to start a war.”

Her eyes are wide like saucers as she stares at him. He sniffs and looks away before nostalgia can get the better of him.

“Draco, what’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened, Pansy. You win. Feel free to say ‘I told you this would happen’. I won’t be mad, I promise.”

“What are you on about?”

“He’s done with me, Pans. Just like you said, he’s had his fun and now he’s done with me.”

“Who is? Wha--Potter!”

The fury reflected in her eyes is nothing compared to what Draco had felt all those years when someone so much as mentioned Harry Potter. Now, it makes him laugh.

“Why are you laughing?”

“It’s just funny.”

“What’s funny?”

“I hated him so much. Salazar, I’d never hated anyone as much as I did him. And then, I found out what hate really means and realized I had just been a child throwing a tantrum because my father liked someone else better than me and everyone always talked about him. Circe, I was so angry with him when I didn’t even know him. And now here I am, wanting nothing more than to keep knowing him.”

“Darling--”

“Oh don’t show me pity, Pansy. It’s rather unbecoming of you.”

“I’m just--you’ve gone and fallen for him, haven’t you?”

He lifts a finger and she rears back because he almost took out out her eye with it. But wait, he’s got something important to say here.

“Correction: crashed and burned, more like.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“You think I can help it? That I would willingly fall for the most oblivious, righteous and the most inconvenient person in the world? I do enjoy pain but I’m not that masochistic.”

“But you can have anyone in the world, darling.” Her voice is so close to begging that he has to wonder if he wasn’t clear enough when he told her he wasn’t interested in her like that all those years ago.

“I don’t want anyone. I only want him.”

She sighs and sits down next to him. The warmth that seeps through her designer robes and makes him shiver, it’s a familiar warmth. Familiar from all those times he had sat down next to her just like this in the Slytherin common room and she had brought her fingers up to card through his hair just like mother used to.

She does it again now and he can’t help but lean into the touch.

“After all that time you spent despising him and making those badges and all those colourful insults, this isn’t how I pictured it all ending.”

“I didn’t despise him.”

“I caught you throwing rocks at a second year just because he had black hair.”

“Fine.”

“I should’ve noticed it before, you know. I should’ve known. That level of obsession is quite unnatural and on the odd occasion when you weren’t staring at him, he was staring at you. I should’ve known that childish loathing wasn’t enough to warrant an obsession so deep.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on, Draco. You’ve been obsessed with Harry Potter since you were eleven. I’d say you’ve been in love with him a lot longer than you think.”

“No, I didn’t love him back then--”

“You wanted his friendship, his approval, and maybe even his respect. And you’ve never wanted that from anyone other than your father. Does that not tell you anything?”

“But I couldn’t be.”

“Why?”

“Because then I’d have been pining for him for a decade.”

“That is pretty pathetic.”

“It is. Especially since he doesn’t want me.”

“Drac--”

“No, I’m sure I didn’t love him back then. It’s only been the past few months, I’m sure of it.”

She doesn’t say anything at the way his voice cracks over the words, or the huge gulp he takes from the bottle right after he’s said it. No, Pansy is loyal and she knows parts of him he’d rather not face up to.

She may still be travelling in the circles Draco left behind after the war and she may still hold on to principles Draco can’t bring himself to follow, but she is a friend and has been by his side even through the difficult transformation from a pureblood Malfoy to someone who works for the Ministry and lives in a flat and doesn’t want to kill all muggles.

He reaches over and squeezes her hand in silent gratitude, she grips his fingers tightly and quietly sobs.

It’s possible that she was holding on all these years, hoping that one day he will give up this life and ask her to marry him and return to the Manor. It’s possible that she has just now realized that it will never happen.

They sit there on the chaise, one drinking and one silently sobbing. And both crushed beneath the weight of a broken heart.

***

He spends the next few days drunk, and he says few because he can’t be sure exactly how many it has been. He remembers them in bits and pieces, flashes of Pansy force-feeding him, even Blaise had come to see him once and that’s a rarity on its own because he had flat out refused to come anywhere near Draco's flat when he'd first moved to London.

Currently, Abraxas is meowing from somewhere and it’s a testament to how pissed he is that it takes him a moment to realize that in his inebriation, he has somehow ended up squishing his cat on the floor underneath where he currently lies.

“Oh pardon me, grandfather. Didn’t mean to squish you into the floor there.”

All the thanks he gets is a loud hiss but at least the twat doesn’t scratch his face off. Sighing, he rolls onto his stomach on top of the warm wood and spreads his arms out around him. There’s a crack in the ceiling he has never noticed before and now suddenly it’s the most interesting thing ever.

Well actually, that could just be the cocktail of potions he had mixed and chugged after the whiskey had stopped doing anything for him. In his current state, he doubts he could feel a single emotion and that’s all he wanted so the absolute numbness is welcome.

He doesn’t know how many hours he spends lying on the floor, just staring at the crack in the ceiling and enjoying the complete lack of thought or feeling. After all, he isn’t sure what’s the appropriate time period to be mourning the loss of one’s greatest love.

Because that’s what Harry was, he was the one person Draco could see himself giving up everything for. The one person he could live his entire life with, even if the world ended tomorrow and they were the only ones left.

Frowning, he sits up and looks around. This isn’t what the potion was supposed to do. He’s supposed to be staring at walls and feeling nothing, not drowning in this sadness, in this utter sense of loss.

Luna finds him like that, searching for the crack on the ceiling to distract himself from the sudden wave of nausea.

“Draco, what are you doing?”

“‘m looking for a crack.”

“In the ceiling?”

Usually, he would turn to her with a look dripping with sarcasm and ask her what else would he be looking for a crack in, laying down the way he is. Today, he’s not in his senses thanks to his superb potion brewing skills.

“Yes, and in the world and in my mind.”

“Well, you won’t find it lying down like that.”

She sounds so knowledgeable like she always does, but for once Draco is actually following the conversation, “How will I find it, then?”

“By going outside and looking at your world. By exploring what it really means to you and what it is that you’re losing.”

For some reason, that makes perfect sense to him in that moment. Later, he will realize just how arbitrary her response had been but by then it’ll be too late.

“Okay.”

“You should get a coat, it’s cold outside.”

Luna doesn’t say anything when he stumbles in his attempt to stand up or when he almost walks into a wall. Draco does briefly wonder if someone else would’ve noticed the clearly unusual state he’s in.

But Luna doesn’t, and that’s why he’s standing outside the Leaky Cauldron reeling from the apparition with his brain absolutely adamant about shutting down. He feels like he’s in a dream-like state where everything is too complicated and Luna has to take his hand and lead him inside.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, how does this make you feel? Are you hurt? Crying yet? 
> 
> PS - The whole tall chair thing was inspired by Dan Rad trying to sit on a tall chair on one of the interviews he did. He looked adorable, there is a video on the internet somewhere, if you're interested.


	18. With no way out and a long way down, everybody needs someone around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I had a huge chunk missing between the previous chapter and the end which I have now filled. I'm really excited to be finally sharing the actual angst of this fic with you all and I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Go on, then!

Luna shows up just as they're getting ready to order, with Draco in tow. Harry really doesn't know what to do, where to look. He can't feel his fingers at all, it's like he's been struck by a most powerful _Expelliarmus_ and for the first time in his life, he doesn't want to retaliate.

Everyone starts asking Luna questions at once as she neatly slips into the chair next to Neville and becomes a part of the loud group very seamlessly. Draco looks preoccupied, he doesn't answer when Ron calls out his name twice. And he doesn't look up from the floor till Neville's hand reaches out and tugs on his arm.

Without making a conscious decision to do so, Harry gets up and excuses himself from the table, his feet take him toward the back entrance without even thinking about it.

A gust of bone-chilling wind hits him square in the chest the second he swings open the door. It's a good distraction, he thinks, with chattering teeth and his breath swirling into fog right under his nose. Some drunk bugger watches him trembling and offers him a swig of the whiskey clutched in a filthy looking hand.

Harry takes that as a sign to go back inside.

When he gets back to the table, Draco is already seated between Ron and Neville looking like he's always been best mates with them. Without his coat on, Harry can see he has a cardigan on underneath which is open to reveal a plain white shirt that dips sinfully low and Harry really has to try to pull his eyes away from the maddening expanse of pale skin.

"Harry, mate, where did you go off to?"

"I just needed the loo."

"But you went outsi--"

A strategically placed elbow from Hermione shuts Ron right up even though he looks confused and pretty much everyone at the table notices the abrupt cutting off mid-sentence; everyone including Draco, who doesn't even bother looking at Harry and continues his conversation with Neville as if he can't even see Harry.

_It burns_ , Harry decides. That's what the clawing sensation he's been feeling in his chest is. It feels like he's on fire.

An unbidden image of the Room of Requirement blazing behind him as he flies out with Draco clutching onto him floats through his mind.

"Harry?"

Apparently, he's been lost in his head and Luna has been calling his name for some time if the half dozen pair or eyes trained on his face are any indication.

"Yes?"

"I was just asking about France, will you be going back soon?"

His eyes slide over to Draco involuntarily but still he finds the blond head turned away toward Nev. Harry wonders if he and Draco were ever close or if he just thought that up in a moment of extreme insanity. Because right now it feels like Draco doesn’t even know he exists.

"Uh, no, not this week. I'm still considering my options."

"And what options are those?"

Now that Neville has joined the conversation, Harry can't bring himself to look in that direction anymore. He doesn't know what he's dreading (resisting) more, those familiar silver eyes piercing through him or finding that even without the distraction of a conversation, Draco will refuse to look at him.

"Staying."

A surprised gasp or two sounds around their little table, he hasn’t talked about it with anyone and he knows he’s in for a talking to from Hermione demanding to know why she wasn’t informed of his decision.

It’s not even that yet, he hasn’t decided. It’s just something he wants but isn’t sure he should want. Much like many other things right now.

Neville’s excited voice interrupts that rapidly derailing train of thought, thankfully: "For good?"

_If I have a reason to stay._

"Yes."

Finally, stormy grey eyes meet his across the table and Harry actually feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. _Gods, he's utterly ruined for anyone else, isn't he?_

"Harry, you never said anythi--"

"I haven't decided yet."

Hermione is insistent, “But I didn’t even know you were considering it. Why the change?”

“Found something worth staying for.”

There’s a deafening silence around the table, and even the room. It’s almost like everyone has stopped talking at once and Harry can feel eyes on him and he’s sure everyone is staring but he really doesn’t care.

He doesn’t dare look away from Draco.

Draco, who’s staring back at him with an absolutely blank face. Draco who would look uninterested and aloof to anyone else but Harry now knows him like he knows himself. Harry can read him like an open book.

And Harry sees the little vein on the right side of his neck throbbing on a crazy staccato beat which means Draco’s heart is hammering in his chest.

Harry sees the almost unnoticeable tightening of Draco’s lips which means he’s stopping himself from saying words that are at the tip of his tongue, seconds from spilling out in that ‘I’m Draco Malfoy and this is what I have to say’ way.

Harry sees the way Draco’s nostrils flared the second he heard Harry’s answer, which means he’s shocked and just this side of letting out a sharp noise of his own.

Harry also sees the way his right hand is not on the table - like it usually would be thanks to a lifetime of being taught proper table manners and etiquette - but rather disappearing underneath the table which means he’s clenching it in an effort to not react in any visible way.

And Harry can see the stormy grey of his eyes melting into soft moonlit silver but he’s not sure that’s actually happened. That last one might just be wishful thinking on his part.

Their eyes are stuck in on each other almost like the rest of the world has melted away around them.

“Harry!”

He can feel Hermione’s hand yanking at his own, and it’s impolite to not reply. Before looking away though, he allows another second to lose himself in those torturing eyes.

“Yeah?”

“What have you found?”

“It’s already lost.”

“Mate, will you stop talking in riddles and just say it?”, Ron's impatience would be funny on any other occasion.

“I told you, Ron, I’ve already lost it.”

“So are you staying or not?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On fate.”

“Okay, there is no way you are this pissed on just one pint.”

“I’m not pissed.”

“Well, are you under a Confundus then?”

“No.”

“Ron--”

“No, Hermione, I want to know what’s happening with Harry. Mate, are you alright? You haven’t gone to work in days, you’re never around anymore and when I do see you, you’re moping about like a heartbroken lover!”

This time Draco’s eyes do widen.

All Harry can do is agree with Ron, “Yeah.”

Unfortunately, Ron doesn't possess the subtlety that his wife is currently displaying, “Really? Who is it? Is it Chang? Or--”

“No, it’s not her.”

“Then who--”

“It’s over, Ron. It’s no one.”

“But--”

“Ronald, will you stop pestering him with questions?”

He seems to listen to his wife and stops whatever he was about to ask next. Harry will have to thank Hermione later on for whatever little pride he can salvage from this conversation not going any further.

Also, he'll have to thank Luna for stepping in when she does, “Harry, what about that dark wizard case?”

***

He didn’t expect a love confession and a song from Draco after his disclosure at the dinner table. He hadn’t even expected himself to announce that he was staying in England for good, but he had said it.

As much as he might say he had no expectations after he’d said it, it’s simply not true. A part of him was hoping that Draco would say something, maybe finally realize that Harry hasn’t been lying to him.

All of that aside, he didn’t expect Draco to excuse himself and leave before their food even came to the table.

_He had left though._

And now Harry’s blind drunk and staring into the flames of the fireplace in the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Harry James Potter!”

And there’s Hermione looking at him with an exasperated face, almost her default look from Hogwarts.

“Are you trying to kill yourself? Apparating when you can’t even keep your eyes open? Harry, I’m talking to you.”

“Can we do this tomorrow, Hermione?”

“No, we can’t. I’ve been silent for a week now hoping that you would come to your senses soon.”

“I am in my senses.”

“Is that why your shoe is resting on top of your head?”

He blinks against the harsh light of her _lumos_ and feels around on his head to find his left shoe innocently sitting there. With trembling fingers, he pulls it off and stares at it in confusion.

“How’d you get up there?”

“Merlin, Harry! How can you drink so much?”

“How can I not?”

“Look, I know you’re upset but you can’t keep it bottled up like this. You have to let it out.”

“Will that make it hurt less?”

She quickly walks around the centre table and comes to sit down beside him with a murmured, “Oh, Harry.”

Her fingers are sweet relief against his scalp as she cards them through his hair. It's been a while since they've been close like this, what with this absence from England and all. He used to do this in Hogwarts all the time; lay down on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room with his head in Hermione's lap and her fingers would start playing with his hair. Especially during Ron's obsession with Lavendar when Hermione needed Harry just as much as he did her.

This time, Harry's the one with a broken heart and he finally understands how Hermione must've felt all those years ago.

She twirls a strand of hair around her fingers and in a soft voice asks, “What happened with Draco?”

Truth is, he doesn't know. He's not sure what did happen with Draco. Now that he's had a bit of time to think about it, he can't quite work out how he's ended up here.

"I don't know."

"Did you have a fight?"

"Yeah. We wanted different things, I guess. I don't know if I was fooling myself but I guess I thought we might want the same thing and in the end, we didn't."

"Are you--did you work out how you felt about him?"

He takes a moment to think about it, the silence of the house seems peaceful and yet haunting around them. Thoughts are struggling to get to the front of his mind and in the end, he just says whatever feels like the truth.

“I never thought I'd ever find anyone else, y'know. I thought I'd been more than lucky in finding you and Ron. I could never find another friend who understood and who just knew by looking at me. And then he walked in. I swear I never thought it possible but he's always been good at mucking up my plans.

I can be _me_ with him, just Harry. We have all that history but there's so much we don't know about each other and I was just starting to learn. He just--he really did wedge his way into my life and now I'm lost."

"You'll be fine, Harry, but it won't be overnight. When my parents--when I--it took me months to come to terms with it. Heartbreak usually does. So, just give yourself time."

"I can't go back to France, I don't want to. I want to stay but I can't be here."

"Take a break, go somewhere else."

“And you think that’ll help?”

“It will help more than drinking yourself sick.”

He doesn’t answer her, just keeps staring into the fire and hoping for Sirius’ face to appears in the flames. Being here is making him even more nostalgic than usual but for once, he wants to stay.

All those times talking about the past with Draco, he’d starting thinking about how much every single one of them is affected by the war and yet they’ve moved on in their own little ways. Whether it be Neville going back to Hogwarts as a teacher, to the place he had horrible memories of; or Andromeda and Teddy getting on with their lives in the absence of the two most important people, while keeping them in their memories.

He needs to start moving on too. And what better place to do so than the family home of the most Noble House of Black?

And yet, there are things he must come to terms with before he can start any kind of moving on.

“Sometimes, I wish it wasn’t _him_. I feel like it wouldn’t hurt as much if it was anyone else. Anyone but him.”

“That’s just your anger--”

“It’s not, not really. I wouldn’t have let anyone else in so easily, I think. Well, no one else would’ve been able to get into my mind so quickly and so fucking thoroughly. He was everywhere, y’know? In the last few months, he was in everything I did and everywhere I went.”

“That’s why you have to be strong now.”

“I do wonder if it could have been anyone but him. I mean, it’s fate almost. And I think it can only be him for me.”

“Harry, you’re drunk and sad--”

“Do you ever feel like Ron is the only one for you? Like, you can’t imagine someone else taking his place? I can’t believe I’m saying this about Draco sodding Malfoy but then didn’t all that fighting and anger and hatred just mean that he’s always fought for my attention and I’ve always just given it to him? And I’ve always let him in?”

Hermione’s loud sigh tells him he’s gone on to another level of moping. He takes a deep breath and tries to pick himself up from the sofa and sorely fails. The second time, he does stand up on wobbly legs with his hands on the wall to support his weight. Hermione’s _tsk_ makes him try to stand up straighter and it ends with his feet giving in under him and Harry Potter on his knees in a drunken mess.

Collecting his broken dignity from the floor, he goes into the first room down the hallway and crashes on the bed. Hermione mumbles a low goodnight before putting a warm blanket on him and leaving him in the outstanding care of _Kreacher_.

***

The next morning is another lesson in _my body is not what it used to be, I can’t keep drinking on the regular and not die._

Hermione has left him a potato casserole and he’s ready to kiss her in gratitude. That doesn’t worry him though, what does worry him is when he’s ready to kiss _Kreacher_ when the elf brings him tea muttering about childish wizards sullying the dignity of his beloved Mistress’ house.

“This is my house now, y’know. Sirius left it to me and I think I will stay for a while.”

The wrinkled elf mumbles something like _Master Sirius, a fool, and too loyal for his own good_ and Harry has to rush to the bathroom to empty whatever was left in his stomach. Looking at himself in the mirror, tired and heaving, he wonders just how long will the scars from the war stay with him.

“Is Mister Potter be needing any more mead from the Black collection?”

The bastard is looking at him with mocking eyes, enjoying the sudden lurch in Harry’s stomach at even hearing the word mead.

“No, thanks”, he snaps but _Kreacher_ has already left by then.

He looks back at himself in the mirror, notices the way his skin looks sickly especially with the darkness under his eyes. He’s in no shape to meet Kingsley to deliver his final notes on the cases he’s worked.

“Pull yourself together, Harry.”

Breathing deeply once and twice, he turns around and walks to the main room to collect his robes and go meet Kingsley Shacklebolt for the last time as an employee.

***

His head hurts, his body is protesting and he has no idea where he is. That last problem is solved when he opens his eyes and feels a familiar weight on his legs.

Shaking Abraxas off of himself, he slowly moves his limbs but has to stop because an unnatural pain zings up his spine at the movement. Then, details about his recent activities filter through the haze in his mind: the potions he’s been brewing and drinking like a man dying of thirst drinks water.

While they’ve been good at making him forget and hold off the near constant angst, they also take their toll on his body. Finally, regaining some blood circulation in his extremities, he curses and gets out of bed thinking about altering the proportions to reduce the physiological effects.

And he’s already staring at walls ten minutes later, because being in control of your senses is utterly overrated. Why be present and in your senses when you can be walking around completely numb and withdrawn?

_For days._

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Did all that practice make you ready for this angst? Do you hate me yet?


	19. Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, so close. So close. 
> 
> PS - Title from Arctic Monkeys song: 'Do I wanna know?'

_**Harry Potter reunited with school crush! The Chosen One chooses Hogwarts crush over Ginny Weasley!**_

  
There’s that rubbish again, the Daily Prophet has once again successfully chosen the most irrelevant and the most inconvenient story about his life and decided to make a front cover of it.

  
Harry dreads going to work this morning, it’s already been a hassle after Draco decided he was done with Harry and Kingsley asked Harry if he will make a final report of all the cases they worked on together and especially a comprehensive report of their mysterious wizard case before he also stops coming to the Ministry.

  
He’d wanted to say no. He had wanted to shake his head and refuse to work in the room that was supposed to be his and Draco’s office, where they worked together. He had also wanted to flee without telling anyone, just up and disappear back to France or maybe somewhere else. Somewhere he wouldn’t have to look around and feel like something massive is missing, like his friends are walking on eggshells around him because they know something is off but not what.

  
Except, he’s tired of running. He is absolutely done with running away from his problems. A big part of that has to do with Draco, the way he has always picked himself up and carried on when the entire world was out to get him. All those memories he shared with Harry, of times when anyone else would’ve given up but Draco Malfoy survived.

  
And that’s why Harry agreed to do the report for Kingsley, that’s why he’s still in England a week after Draco walked out of his life, and it’s also why someone from the Ministry has decided to sell this story to the Prophet. Because they’ve got it in their head that Harry has resigned from the case because of a conflict of interest, because he’s in love with Cho and he can’t be with her if they both work for the Ministry.

  
He doesn’t have the patience to correct them on possibly the stupidest story they’ve done on him. So, he apparates to his office directly from Grimmauld Place. It takes quite a lot of effort to break through the anti-apparition wards set in the Ministry but Draco had showed him how he was able to apparate to the Great Lake--and there’s yet another reminder of what’s wrong with his life now.

  
When he has to go speak with one of the investigators on Level Two, he uses the stairs rather than taking the lift. That’s how all of this started anyway, that time Cho had kissed him in the lift and someone had seen it before Harry could push her off and clarify that he wasn't into her like that.

  
Regardless, he’s only here till he can finish those reports and then he’ll never return to the Ministry if he can help it. Every inch of this place now has memories, from five years ago and five days ago. And he’ll never be able to think of this place without thinking of losing Sirius, and of losing Draco.

  
Draco’s empty desk across the room is a sight that’s been digging into his ribs for the last three days. That half of the room no longer feels like it’s Draco’s. There are no neat piles of parchment, no perfectly folded robes placed on the right half of sofa, and no blond git sitting with an ankle balanced precariously on top of a knee, looking like he’s the most powerful man in all of England irrespective of what’s happened to him in all his life.

  
With a sigh, he looks away from the empty chair and forces himself to think of the last case they worked on. In the few months they worked together, Draco hardly ever let him touch a quill much less write anything official. More than not having to write, Harry misses the jabs at his chicken scrawl of a handwriting.

  
Ron interrupts his pining with a loud, “Harry, have you seen the _Prophet_ , mate?”

  
He quickly walks over to the sofa with a copy of the stupid fucking newspaper clutched in his hand and flops down with careless abandon. All Harry can do is nod at him, hoping he’ll take the hint and not continue to talk about the ordeal Harry’d much rather ignore.

  
“They’re saying you and Cho--”

  
“I know, Ron.”

  
“Well, it’s not true, is it? I mean you’re into blokes, you said that when we went out--”

  
“Can we not talk about this, please?”

  
“But Harry, you have to tell them--”

  
“Ron, I need to finish this report for Kingsley, mate.”

  
He can feel Ron’s eyes on him, probably staring him down if only Harry would look up at him. And when he doesn’t budge, Ron gets up from the sofa.

  
“Right, okay. I’ll leave you to it.”

  
He leaves the room without any more questions, and Harry knows that he will have to address these rumours at some point. If not for himself, then at least for Cho. Merlin, she must be getting mobbed by everyone, Harry should--

  
“Why is Malfoy’s side of the room empty?”

  
Whirling around in his chair, Harry finds Ron standing in the doorway with a worried expression on his face. Ron’d probably not realized it until after he left here. And here Harry was hoping that his best mate wouldn’t notice the gaping hole of absence Draco left behind himself.

  
“Is he not working with you on the case anymore?”

  
“He, erm, he--no. He isn’t working with me anymore.”

  
“Why? Has something happened?”

  
Harry almost laughs at the question, that cruel self-deprecating laugh. He could never have thought that the new reality he had begun living in would be ripped out of his fingers if he tried to act on his feelings. Never in his dreams would he have thought that Draco would walk away from him after everything they’ve become to each other, just because Harry might want Draco. _Honest to Gods want him._

  
“No.”

  
“Then why has he left?”

  
“It was Kingsley’s decision. We're done working the case.”

  
“What? But it’s still unsolved.”

  
“There are no leads, Ron. And there have been no new sightings.”

  
“So now what? Malfoy’s gone back to his job and what’ll you do now?”

  
“I’m not sure. For now, I have to finish this report.”

  
Ron lingers in the doorway, without making any move to leave Harry be. After a tense silence, Harry sees Ron moving out of the corner of his eye. Instead of leaving though, he walks up to Harry’s desk and watches him till Harry gives in and looks up from the report he hasn’t yet started writing.

  
“It’s alright though, innit? If Malfoy has left, you can still meet with him over a pint and stay in touch as a mate, right?”

  
Harry has no answer to his question. He shrugs at Ron who finally takes the hint and leaves with a heavy sigh left lingering between them.

  
***

  
Throughout the day, Harry feels like he’s being watched and every time he’s looked up, it’s to find some random witch or wizard peeking through the open door. By the time lunch comes around, his stomach is growling with a vengeance and without thinking, he starts to ask Draco if they can go to that Indian place for _biryani_ again.

  
There is no answer of course, and the wave of disappointment that crashes through him almost brings him to his knees. He has to reach out a hand to hold onto his desk, while yet another nosy witch walks by the doorway at a leisurely pace with her eyes pinned on him. Irritation courses through his blood at being watched like a specimen, like an object.

  
He makes a decision then: he is done with hiding away.

  
People have controlled his life ever since he was born, someone or another has always made the decisions that change his life forever. Well, not anymore.

  
He drinks a tall glass of water before descending to the main floor of the Ministry and makes his way toward the Atrium where he knows reporters are waiting for him to show his face. He'd heard people chatting in the hallway earlier wondering how long the reporters were likely to stay if Harry refused to budge and refused to use the floo.

  
And sure enough, as soon as someone spots him, flashes go off almost blinding him and loud questions interrupt the relative silence of the Ministry.

  
“Is it true, Harry? Are you and Ms. Chang together?”

  
“Are you in love with her? Is this why you broke it off with Ginny Weasley?”

  
“Are you going to marry her?”

  
“Will you be staying in England for good now that you’ve found a wife and possibly have children--?”

  
That’s when he loses it.

  
The wizarding world has always expected him to a perfect good boy who will marry and have children and keep saving them and sharing all the little details of his life with them. No one has once given him a choice about his own life so he’s going to make sure they know that he is who he is and they have no say in it.

  
“I AM GAY! What part of that do you people not understand?! I know that you already know this but you refuse to understand and accept it so I’ll say it again: I. Am. Gay. I already have someone in my life, and even though he doesn’t want me back, I’m too fucking busy being his to fall for somebody else.”

  
The thunderous silence in the Atrium rivals that of the Great Hall after Dumbledore would ask for everyone to quiet down. The faces staring back at him are slack with shock as if they can’t believe it’s Harry who has said all this.

  
He feels a sick sense of satisfaction coiling in his stomach, satisfaction that he has finally stunned them all into silence. And that they won’t be able to pretend anymore that he’s going to marry a woman and have children and a large family that they can all harass.

  
There’s also a sting of pain underneath it all. Pain of finally admitting that he is in love with Draco and that Draco doesn’t want him back.

  
He floos out of there before anyone can get over the shock and ask him something else.

  
***

  
This time it’s Luna who wants to talk to him and see if she can fix him. Okay, he’s being an arsehole when he says that because she’s trying to be a good friend and all that but the real reason she’s doing it is to see if she can be the one to fix the Chosen One.

  
Or maybe that’s the Black family mead talking because honestly, Luna would never think like that. She’s asked him about Draco point blank and Harry hasn’t been able to deny it so here they are.

  
“Harry, are you alright?”

  
“I thought there was something there. Clearly, I was wrong.”

  
“But--”

  
“I really, I--well. I thought wrong and that’s all there is to it. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  
“Okay.”

  
“I thought--I. I just--I thought he needed time, I thought he wanted to go slow. That’s why I played this game, this stupid fucking game. It’s why I kept pretending and why I kept burying how strongly I felt behind smiles and jokes. Turns out I was an utter idiot.”

  
“You’re not a--”

  
“The funny thing is, I didn’t try to force this on him even once because I just couldn’t stand the idea of losing--well, him. I couldn’t bring myself to do anything that might make this precarious friendship tip.”

  
She nods like she’s pondering every word out of his mouth and that seems to do the trick. He’s saying anything and everything that comes to his mind without ever making a conscious decision to do so.

  
“I thought I was here for a week, two weeks at most. I was ready to solve this and go back to my cottage and my lonely life, I never thought I’d find something to keep me here. But he just--he tipped my world upside down. He got under my skin and I let him in, like always, he crawled in. And now he won’t leave.”

  
“Have you told him that’s how you feel?”

  
“I did try to and I lost him.”

  
“I think you should tell him again.”

  
“I tried, trust me Luna, I tried. He doesn’t want to hear it.”

  
“I think he just didn’t hear you.”

  
She leaves at some point in the evening, still adamant that Draco doesn’t know how he feels but Harry really can’t believe that. He’d said it right to Draco’s face, all those times he said that he wanted Draco. Wanted him unlike he’s ever wanted anyone before.

  
_Could Draco really not know?_

  
No, he must know.

  
***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How you like me now?


	20. I'm glad you came

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I like to pretend otherwise, there is a part of me that's hopelessly romantic. This part wanted me to publish the following on Valentine's Day. I know it's technically not anymore, but I don't care. So yeah, here it is. I hope the pain was all worth it.

He wakes up to find Pansy and Blaise standing over him with twin looks of concern on their faces and it’s a testament to the state he’s been in for the past few days, that it doesn’t even startle him to wake up to find his friends looming over him, three inches from his face.

“He’s so pale, I’ve never seen him so pale”, a decidedly male voice says softly though with the state of Draco's head, it sounds like it's booming and echoing off the walls. 

“I never thought I’d be saying this but he looks even paler than usual”, and hers sounds so much like Mother that Draco wants to throw a fit and scream that he's not a child and doesn't need adult supervision.

He settles for a bitch face to rival Professor Snape's and an irritated tone, “ _He_ is awake and waiting for an explanation as to why you two are standing over his bed.”

They both sniff and pull away, finally giving him room to sit up.

The curtains have been parted to let in the blinding sunlight of midday, it's Pansy's doing surely. He blinks trying to adjust his eyes to the light without making the headache that's already building behind his eyes even worse.

Apparently, he's taking too long if the constant pacing and pointed looks of his friends are anything to go by.

Sighing at their impatience and utter rudeness for that matter, Draco sits up against the headboard and pulls the quilt tight around himself. If he's going to be listening to whatever rubbish idea Pansy has come up with and roped Blaise into, he's going to be comfortable in bed at least.

"Are you not getting out of bed, then?"

He shoots her a quick glance to let her know just how thin the ice beneath her feet is.

"Fine, be indolent. What would your mother say if she saw you like this--"

"She'd sympathize, I'm sure. Now, why are you two here to disturb my sleep?"

Blaise speaks up finally, "You do know it's past noon?"

"Yes, thank you, Big Ben."

Blaise's face creases into a frown at his answer, but Draco couldn't care less about educating him about muggle culture right now. His sleep has been interrupted, he can't drink from the flask he's been constantly filling with potions in front of these two and no one has explained why he's been disturbed as of yet. He’s going to be as snappy as he pleases.

"Are you going to tell me the reason you're here or am I guessing?"

"We were worried, Draco. You've been absent from--"

"I've been unwell. Next question, please."

"Fine, be like that, you--"

Blaise steps in front of Pansy, his face determined like he's about to walk into war. Draco feels a twinge of nervousness in his chest for a second, not looking forward to whatever is coming next.

"Are you mixing potions? I can smell them from here!"

Pansy's face transforms with worry and concern etched deeply in her features. Draco shoots Blaise a glare for bringing it up in front of her. Now, she'll never let him live it down.

Speaking of, she takes a step closer to the bed looking almost exactly how Narcissa Malfoy would if she knew her son was abusing potions, "Draco, is this true?"

Huffing, he bows his head. He's a good liar when he wants to be but he just doesn't see the point in lying about this to them. When he nods, Pansy walks over and sits down beside him at the edge of the bed.

The silence in the room is getting under his skin, no one is saying anything and it feels unnatural. Like all the air has been sucked out of the room, and this is why Draco has been drinking those potions. So, he doesn't have to feel like this.

Pansy's hand finds his and her voice is really soft when she asks, "Is it because of Potter?"

He doesn't see how he can possibly answer her so he stays quiet. Across the room, Blaise sighs loudly and drops unceremoniously into the leather chair.

When Draco finds his eyes, Blaise only shakes his head as if he can't believe Draco Malfoy has been brought down to _this_ by a Gryffindor.

Well, Draco can't quite believe it either but here there are, nonetheless.

Pansy's hand tightening around his brings Draco's attention back to her. She's looking at him with suspiciously wet eyes, like she's about to deliver bad news.

Draco can't think of anything she can say to him that'll make him feel any worse than he already is feeling. The moment of tense silence is broken by Blaise's loud exclamation, "Oh for fuck's sake! Potter's bent, he's just yelled at reporters outside the Ministry this afternoon, it's all over the papers! And he's in love with some bloke."

Draco's processing the first few words of that statement still when Pansy gets off the bed and starts arguing with Blaise about not knowing when to say something and how to say it. Draco isn't physically capable of paying any attention to anything.

In his hurry to get out of bed, he trips on the quilt and almost sprawls across the floor. That makes Pansy and Blaise stop arguing, they both turn around and are looking at him with wide eyes.

"I'm fine, don't stop fighting. Actually, before you resume, just what did he say?"

Blaise rolls his eyes so hard that Draco's surprised they're still attached to his head. Well, they've all always had a flair for the dramatic so he forgives the rude gesture and instead looks to Pansy for help.

She sighs and pulls a newspaper out of her robes, and starts to read aloud: "In a shocking turn of events, Harry Potter has admitted to being homosexual in a very public confession. The revelation has come in the face of rumours about Mr. Potter and his Hogwarts crush, Ms. Cho Chang, picking up where they left off. When confronted to comment on said rumours, Mr. Potter went off on the reporters and accused everyone of covering up his sexuality in some kind of a conspiracy. The writers would like to mention that no such covering up was ever'--okay, this is shite."

Draco has to hold himself up against the wall, Pansy's shuffling the paper in her hands as if she's looking for something specific in the article and all Draco can do is stand there with his mouth almost hitting the floor. What is even happening?

"Wait, where the fuck is the part about him--oh here it is. 'Mr. Potter also insinuated that he has a man in his life who he loves dearly even though said man might not be interested in our Saviour. Which begs the question, who would turn down the Chosen One? Is it perhaps because Mr. Potter's mysterious man is not bent? Or could it be that Harry fell for a married man? Well well, wouldn't that be a scandal? The Saviour wrecking a famil--' Oh for fuck's sake, these nosy pigs! They don't know shit but that doesn't stop them from speculating and spreading lies--Draco what're you--?"

He's flooing to Number 12 Grimmauld Place before Pansy can even finish her question.

And just as he feels his body moving through the narrow shaft, he realises the flaw in his plan. There's a reason flooing and apparating while drunk or hungover is strongly discouraged and with everything Draco has been consuming in the last few days, he shouldn't even be allowed to walk to Harry Potter's home.

When he lands out of the fireplace, his feet give in from under him and he ends up tasting the carpet at the Black family home. Before he can collect his dignity from the floor, a wrinkly old elf appears out of nowhere and is currently glaring at him like he's the scum of the earth.

Draco scrambles to sit up, gets twisted up in the quilt he's still hugging while the elf stands there with an air of acute judgement swirling around him.

Clearing his throat, Draco finally pulls to his feet and says, "Is Potter at home?"

The wrinkly bastard just stands there without replying for a long moment before he sneers at Draco and says, "And who shall I say is visiting?"

"Tell him it's Draco."

The elf turns around and walks away mumbling about _incompetent wizards_ and their _inept guests_. Draco bites down on an insult and instead tries to right his sleep wrinkled clothes, Merlin knows nothing can be done with his poor complexion from all those potions. He probably looks like a patient at St. Mungo--

"Draco?"

He whips his head around to find Harry standing in the doorway of the main room, and realization dawns rather quickly: Harry also looks like a patient at St. Mungo's. Could it be that they're both suffering for the same reasons?

Now that he's here and standing in front of the man he wants more than anything else and anyone else, Draco can't think of anything to say. It feels like every word has escaped his mind and all that remains is Harry.

Harry, who is looking at Draco with wide eyes that reflect so much pain Draco can’t believe he didn't see it before. Harry, whose face is coloured with hopelessness that Draco put there. He can't believe he's been this blind.

"Harry."

Green eyes widen behind smudged glasses as if Draco's just told him everything he came here to say when he's only said his name. They stand there in silence looking at each other, looking their fill to make up for the last week. Draco can't believe that just looking at Harry can make him feel like this. Like he's pardoned for every sin he's ever committed and that he could die right this instant and be happy for the life he has lived.

"Did you really--what you said to the papers this morning, were you telling the truth?"

He stands there with bated breath as Harry nods at him, just a single nod as he moves to lean against the sofa. The air between them has shifted, has become even thicker now that they're finally admitting things they should've ages ago.

"Were you--the man you said you had fallen for. Is it--could it be me?"

Harry just looks at him, his green eyes boring right through Draco and gods, he feels like a fool for ever thinking that Harry was playing him, for ever doubting that Harry was going through the same hell he was.

The sadness he sees reflected in those eyes is absolute, like he remembers seeing in his mother's eyes when father was sentenced to Azkaban. Her blue eyes would swim just like this in a sea of unshed tears as she slowly lost her sanity.

He's completely bowled away by the realization that he could drive Harry to insanity, that he has such an effect on Harry Potter.

While he's coming to terms with it all and finally realizing what Harry's been saying all along, the man in question finally moves. Draco can't help but shake his head against the accusations his own brain is levelling at him: _he loved you and you pushed him away, look how much you hurt him, you don't deserve him, he deserves better…_

Harry just keeps moving toward him, silent and slow. He looks like someone who has had hope wrenched right out of their hands and all Draco can do is apologize, "I'm sorry, so so sorry. I didn't know, Harry. I didn't--Circe, forgive me, please. I didn't know."

Harry stops walking, just stands there with his head tilted to the side like he's trying to understand something that just doesn't make sense to him. Draco wants to reach out and touch him, not sexually or anything, no. He just wants to reach out and feel Harry against his fingertips, more to comfort himself perhaps than to comfort Harry. Just to convince himself that this is true, it isn't a dream or a hallucination stemming from his ceaseless potion abuse. He just wants to breathe Harry in, to hold him against himself.

“How could you not know, Draco? How could you not?”

The pain in Harry's voice is like a punch to the gut, Draco almost doubles over when he hears it crack over the last word. But there's a real question in Harry's eyes and he deserves to know the answer. Draco knows deep down that Harry deserves to know.

“Why would you want _me_? I’m a bloody death eater!”

He hears it before he sees it, the rage in Harry's voice and on his face. The fire reflected in those eyes takes Draco back to Hogwarts and the burning Room of Requirement behind them as Harry flew them to safety. That same ferocity is on that face right now, “And you’re so much more. I do want you, Draco. Every bit of you, I want it all. Because I’m so fucking in love with you, I don’t think I could go on without you."

He says the next thing that comes to mind without even realizing what he's saying, “I thought you just wanted to fuck me. See what it’s like to shag a death eater.”

Revulsion crosses Harry's features and he steps closer to Draco before his face transforms into a mask of disgust, “How can you think that? Have you not seen me utterly besotted with you? Have you not felt anything when our eyes meet? Because my whole world shifts on its axis every time I touch you, like the whole world is shifting and remoulding itself around you. Have you not felt it?”

“Harry—“

He tries to step forward and stop Harry from saying anymore, from reliving all that pain once again but those eyes are so full of unsaid things that he pulls himself back and lets Harry get it all out.

“I want you, Gods, do I want you. I’ve gone mad with want and need, just at a simple touch from you. A single look. But I won’t seek that anymore, if that’s what you want. Promise to never touch you but I can’t let you walk out of my life again, Draco. Not after the torture that’s been this past week.”

“Harry, I—"

“I’ll beg. I’m on my knees and I’ll grovel—"

Harry falls to his knees in front of Draco, and isn't that something? All along, he's been thinking that he's the one hurting so much that it feels like he's being torn apart from the inside and here he is: the one left standing when he's brought Harry to his knees.

Snapping out of it, he kneels down in front of Harry. When their eyes meet, he knows that he's going to be regretting what he did for years to come but that's not important right now.

“Harry, no. Please, don't do this. I'm sorry.”

He lifts a hand to Harry's cheek and the moment skin touches skin, it feels like he's touched a live wire. Harry leans into the touch and his eyes slip closed as they stay right there, kneeling and begging each other silently. Draco wonders what good deed he did in a previous life to deserve a love this precious.

Harry's eyes open and find his, a wordless promise in them. Before he can say anything, Harry's hand finds his and the very next second Draco finds himself being pulled up and Harry's right there with his wet eyes and his bitten lips, “I want to give you the world, Draco. And I’m not saying you couldn’t conquer this world on your own, you definitely can. If anyone can, you can. But I want to give you _my_ world. You’d never even have to ask, Draco, I’d give it all up for you.

You’ve always just gotten to me, y’know, and I’ve never understood why. I mean Voldemort got inside my mind by _legilimency_ and making me into a horcrux, and all you had to do was mock my hair a few times and I couldn’t get you out of my head.

It used to make me so angry, with myself even, for letting you get under my skin. Now I know that I never even had a chance. Whether I hate you or despise you or love you, I can’t let go of you. And I don't want to, I never want to. Stay, for good.”

Draco can't believe he's hearing this, after everything he's done and everything that has happened to him in this life, he can't believe that it's all led him to this. All those times he did things because one of Voldemort's loyal followers was breathing down his neck, and the times when he hurt people of his own volition because that's what Lucius Malfoy's upbringing does to a child. All of that has led him to finding love so pure, he doesn't think he deserve it after all those sins.

And despite all that, Harry is looking at him like he's the one that doesn't deserve Draco. Gods, how had he ever doubted this man?

"Harry--"

"You don't have to say anything, I just want you to know is all--"

"I want to. I won't be writing you poems any time soon or saying all that sentimental crap that you've just unloaded on me--"

Harry laughs wetly and Draco just wants to kiss him so he does. And it's unlike anything he has ever felt.

***

Draco’s lips are trembling, the cherry red skin wet and quivering but Harry knows it’s in anticipation and not fear because the grey eyes looking at him are dark and wide, much like his own, he suspects. He can feel Draco’s breath on his lips and his cheeks, that gust of warmth pulling him in inch by inch and begging for Harry to join them together so he can share that breath; Draco's breath that is tickling his face as long fingers dig into Harry’s hips.

He wants Draco’s fingers digging in deeper into his flesh, so deep that they leave bruises on his skin. When he leans in and his lips meet Draco's, it feels like he's been lit on fire. The lips beneath his are soft and wet, brushing against his oh so delicately for a moment and before Harry knows it, Draco's pulling away.

He's just opening his mouth to protest when Draco rushes forward and crushes his lips against Harrys', sharp teeth are biting at his lips and pulling on them. Merlin, Draco's got Harry's lower lip trapped between his teeth and he's never felt anything more arousing. A moan escapes him before he even realizes what he's doing, Gods, Draco is so good at this. He's pushing and pulling and biting, his teeth gripping Harry's flesh so mercilessly and all he can do is groan and beg for more.

Draco’s tongue slides against his own, a ribbon of silk, and scorching heat laps at his skin at the contact. He’s never known arousal like this, lust like this and bliss like this.

They're both panting, hands clenching over clothes and bare skin and mouths hot and wet against each other's.

They pull apart for air and a moment later, Harry feels Draco leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss against the corner of his jaw, it feels so fucking possessive that Harry wants to melt in his arms. It's been a long time coming, his mind helpfully supplies.

A sharp bite on that same spot on his jaw makes him tremble against Draco. Merlin, how did he ever survive without having this? How did he live so long without feeling like this?

Somewhere in the distance, a kettle is whistling but Draco's mouth is panting hot breath across Harry's jaw and the very next second a hot tongue is tracing around his ear. A rough whisper breaks the loud panting rhythm they'd both set up, "I want to fuck you, right here."

The moan that escapes his lips is absolutely filthy and Harry would be mortified if he could bring himself to care right now. As it is, he's too busy trying not to come just from that rough voice saying filthy things.

Before he can say anything, Draco shifts and Harry feels the man's hands around his hips pulling him close, there isn't an inch of space between them and Harry can feel the hard line of Draco's cock against his thigh and Draco's thrusting his hips so fucking slowly that the drag is torturous so Harry begs like a common whore, "please, upstairs."

He can feel Draco's lips stretching in a smile against his skin and oh Merlin, Draco Malfoy is a sadistic, dominating bastard who has brought Harry down to pleading and begging. His teeth bite down on Harry's shoulder sharply, it feels like they've broken the skin but it's probably just the unexpected and sharp sensation of pain that's making him think so. Harry makes a mewling whimpering sound he hadn't even known he was capable of making but Draco doesn't pull away. Where his teeth had been a moment ago, now a tongue is lapping at hot skin and soothing the burn.

Harry's pleading again because he's not sure he can take much more of this torture, the only response from Draco is to tighten his grip around Harry's waist and pull him even closer so they're touching from chest to thighs. Then, the bastard moves his thigh against Harry's crotch and he feels like he’s going to come just from this, "Ple--please."

Draco laughs at the little hiccup breaking up Harry's pleading, the barmy git laughs and moves the hand wrapped around Harry's waist up to settle at the nape of his neck. Long fingers card through his unruly hair and then suddenly, those same fingers are roughly gripping a chunk of his hair and pulling his head back. Harry's helpless like this, Draco's one hand holding his head back and the other slowly making its way down his navel to wrap around his leaking cock. And all the while, Draco is looking down at him with dark eyes, taking in all the noises Harry's making and the way his mouth has fallen open in absolute surrender. 

Merlin, the gorgeous bastard is panting as he pulls Harry off with one hand and holds his head back with the other. The grey eyes are almost black and his lips are parted in a wide 'o'. Then, just as Harry is close to coming, the hand moving roughly on his cock clamps down around his hardness. Opening his eyes in surprise, Harry finds Draco leaning down into his face as he orders, "Apparate us upstairs."

***

And the next thing he knows, he's standing in a dark bedroom that smells so much like Harry that he almost sways on the spot.

Harry’s leaning into him so Draco just walks them back till Harry’s pinned against the wall and looking like he’ll take whatever Draco gives him. Merlin, the most powerful wizard of their time and he’s looking at Draco like he’s at his mercy.

With a growl, Draco leans down and crushes his lips against Harry’s. It is so intoxicating to be touching Harry and kissing Harry and pushing his whole body against Harry’s, having him pinned against a wall. The little sounds Harry’s been making are hitting him right at the core, arousal pooling oh so intensely, low in his gut.

The tension, the stress and the sheer intensity of moving against Harry is so heady. He pushes his thigh in between Harry’s legs and he can feel the hard line of Harry’s cock against his leg. When he pulls away from the kiss to bite on that blooming red spot on Harry’s jaw, he feels Harry thrusting forward and his cock sliding on Draco’s thigh and why the fuck are they still wearing trousers but this feels so good.

Leaning down, he licks a stripe up Harry’s earlobe before grazing his teeth along the skin and pulling on it. Harry whimpers and his hips jerk forward once again. Gods, he loves having this much power over the Saviour. Knowing that just a graze of his teeth has brought Harry to this state of incoherent babbling is making him leak inside his pants like a teenager.

Well, at least they’re both in this together. He kisses Harry’s ear and whispers in the best commanding voice he can muster right now, “Ride my thigh, go on. I want you to come like this, riding my thigh.”

Harry moans in that broken voice and Draco just wants to hear that sound over and over again because it sounds like Harry is absolutely delirious with lust and want and need. And it’s all for Draco, every broken moan and every whimper and every helpless thrust of his hips.

“Go on, ride. Fuck yourself against me, Harry.” Harry’s hips start rolling against his own and the way they slam into his pelvis and then stay for a second - almost like Harry can’t keep up with the constant friction and like it’s too much - is driving Draco mad. His own cock is rubbing against Harry’s stomach on every roll and fuck he’s going to come in his trousers like a horny schoolboy. Circe, what has Harry done to him?

Annoyed with how long this is taking, he grips Harry’s wrists in his hand and holds them up against the wall, the way Harry’s hips stutter in their movement tells him that he likes it. Now that he’s got Harry completely at his mercy with his wrists pinned to the wall and his legs parted around his thigh, he rolls his own hips sharply just like he would thrust if he was pushing inside Harry. Oh, the way their cocks line up and the heat at the contact is too much. Fuck, he won’t last much longer—

“Draco, I—“

Harry’s head lands on Draco’s shoulder, like he can’t manage to keep it up, as he just stands there and moans and whimpers as Draco thrusts against him and then Harry moves slightly and the angle is so fucking good like this. Even with two layers of clothes between them, it feels like he’s thrusting into Harry and—

“Ohhhh!”

He looks down to find a dark, wet spot spreading across Harry’s crotch and the sight of it just pushes Draco over the edge because he’s just made Harry Potter come in his pants.

***

If someone asked him what has been the best moment of today or of his life even, he would say right now: Harry is curled up behind him in bed, with their legs entangled impossibly and Harry’s warm breath on the back of his neck. This, right here, feels like home.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Any thoughts?


	21. I don't need to try to control you, look into my eyes and I'll own you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought I'd leave you hanging? You thought wrong. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Notice the change in rating.
> 
> PS - Title from Moves like Jagger by Maroon 5, Christina Aguilera.

Harry’s looking at him through half-lidded eyes as his dark lashes brush against red cheeks. He lifts his hand to touch the flushing cheeks and Harry’s lips fall open on a silent gasp. His skin is burning under Draco's touch and he arches into it. The motion makes his hips move and stutter against Draco's and it’s the most beautiful sensation, his own eyes slip shut as a shudder runs down his spine.

  
The sound that escapes Harry’s lips makes him deliberately move his hips against Harry. He’s never seen anyone so responsive, Harry is absolutely wrecked and Draco hasn’t even taken off his clothes yet.

  
He reaches forward and tugs at Harry's messy hair and a slow moan rips out of bitten lips, Harry squirms in his grip and Draco thinks he might just come from this alone. His body moves against Harry's; every inch of his skin on fire as he grinds up against Harry’s cock and Harry is whimpering. _Whimpering._

  
Merlin and Circe, he is so sensitive and Draco is going to wreck him.

  
“Draco...”

  
His hips move on their own at the memory of their previous encounter and Harry rewards him with another moan. He’s biting through his lip because heavenly friction against his robes and-- _wait_

  
_Robes?_

  
_He’s not wearing robes._

  
His eyes fly open to find a dark room around him. 

  
He feels something hard digging into his back and a second too late, realises it’s Harry’s hard cock laying perfectly against the cleft of his arse, digging just there and moving. Oh Merlin, Harry’s thrusting and it feels like the head is going to slip inside Draco any second, even though they’ve both got pants on.

  
And just like that, he’s fully awake and aware of Harry’s hips moving oh so slowly and his cock rubbing against Draco’s arse in a cruel mimicry of fucking. He lays there biting his lip to stop any sounds from escaping, pretending to be asleep as Harry moves against him restlessly.

  
His own body is betraying him and his hips start moving along with Harry, settling into a rhythm of pushing back into the hard cock and Harry’s breath quickens and so does the speed of his thrusts. Draco can’t keep it quiet anymore when the tip of Harry’s cock brushes his hole, he moans so loudly in the silence of the house that the elf would surely have heard.

  
He doesn’t get a chance to dwell on that though because the very next second, Harry’s hand settles on his stomach and slowly moves down to his waist till his fingers spread possessively on Draco’s skin. He can’t help but move back into Harry’s body, his arse rubbing against Harry’s cock even more firmly making them both groan.

  
Then, Harry’s disrupting the quiet shuffling around by abruptly sitting up and pushing Draco onto his back. He’s disoriented by being pulled at so roughly but that’s nothing compared to the way Harry’s hands fly to Draco’s pants and pull them down and off, leaving him completely bare. He can’t help but moan at the feeling of cold air on his hard, leaking cock and the way Harry’s eyes drop down hungrily.

  
Draco doesn’t get a moment to react before Harry’s pulling down his own pants and spreading Draco’s legs, and settling between them. He can feel Harry’s hard cock against his own, wet and throbbing, oh fucking Merlin—

  
“Lie back down on your side.”

  
He’d never have thought Harry Potter capable of sounding so fucking dominant but every word out of his mouth is an order and Draco just can’t even think of not doing as he asks. Even if he was considering not obeying, Harry’s fingers digging into his flesh and almost throwing him on his side would make him acquiesce. Once he’s settled on his side, Harry moves behind him just as he was two minutes ago, except now they are both naked and the feeling of bare skin on skin is absolute euphoria.

  
This time when Harry settles behind him and lines up his hips with Draco’s, his hard cock settles heavily between Draco’s arse cheeks. He moves deliberately and with purpose, leaving Draco moaning and grinding back into him like a helpless virgin.

  
Draco hasn’t been with a dominant partner before, he’s never let anyone have this much power over him and yet Harry’s fingers digging into his hips make him stop moving and just take whatever the man behind him is willing to give. _Oh Circe, he can now see the appeal in just laying back and taking._

  
Harry’s left hand moves from his waist and makes its way between their bodies, and ends up slipping between Draco’s thighs—“Ah!”

  
He bites down hard on his lip to stop any more needy sounds from escaping but Harry has other ideas. He leans down to whisper in Draco’s ear in that annoying most-powerful-wizard-of-our-time voice, “Spread your legs, Draco. Spread them for me.”

  
His hands guide Draco’s right leg to move up just as his hand slips between his thighs again, his thumb rubbing against Draco’s hole almost as an afterthought. He tenses at the sudden and intense touch but Harry is quick to whisper soothing words, “Not tonight, relax. I won’t do anything tonight.”

  
His protests of _why not_ die on his lips when Harry’s fingers brush against that sensitive spot behind his balls and his eyes roll back in pleasure. But before he can even properly feel it, those fingers retract once again and instead Draco feels Harry’s knuckles against his arse as that hand wraps around Harry’s own cock, moving it between Draco’s thighs, “Close them, love.”

  
Oh.

  
“Clench them, tight. I want to feel your thighs trembling around my cock while I fuck you right between your legs.”

  
Draco bites down on his hand to stop any embarrassing noises from slipping out, he can’t wrap his head around the fact that this is the same speccy bastard he’s known since they were eleven who could hardly string along an intelligible sentence.

  
“And don’t keep the noises in. I want to hear you scream, Draco.”

  
“Fuck”, he cries out in a voice he doesn’t recognise as his own but it must be.

  
“I’m planning on it.”

  
Just then, Harry’s fingers grip around his right thigh as he thrusts forward roughly. The feeling of Harry’s cock sliding through his thighs, the drag and the heavy weight of it—Merlin, how is this the most erotic thing he’s ever done when they aren’t even fucking?

  
“I said, clench them tight. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  
Circe, that voice makes him shiver down to the very core as he crosses his ankles and hears Harry curse in response to the tightness. Then, his arms come around Draco’s chest and hold him impossibly close as Harry Potter fucks into the heat of his thighs, his own thighs slapping into the back of Draco’s legs almost painfully but the pleasure of someone pushing him to the very limits—

  
“Fuck, Draco. You’re so fucking hot, I’ve never seen anyone as fucking beautiful as you. Never seen anyone I’ve wanted to fuck into the mattress so badly.”

  
“Please--”

  
Harry's hips stop in the middle of a thrust and Draco can’t help but move the rest of the way, annoyed at such abrupt disruption when Harry’s hoarse voice asks, “What? What did you just say?”

  
***

  
Nothing could prepare him for the feeling of hearing Draco Malfoy pleading in a broken voice with his thighs drenched in Harry’s precome, clenching uncontrollably around his cock.

  
Nothing.

  
And now the git is trying to ride him. Harry stops him with a hand around Draco's neck; fingers digging into his flesh, almost choking.

  
“Tell me what you said or I’ll stop and go back to bed.”

  
He won’t really, there is no way he can stop at this point but Draco doesn’t need to know that. The body in his arms is all hard lines and soft skin, and it jerks oh so beautifully when Harry wraps a hand around Draco’s neglected cock.

  
“Nnnnhgggh—please, Harry. Please-plea—ahhh!"

  
“Was that so hard?”

  
Without any warning, Harry pushes his cock through the wet heat of Draco’s thighs and feels the cock in his hand twitch. He knows neither of them is far from finishing so he shifts to position his left leg a little more firmly on the bed and then proceeds to fuck Draco’s thighs like they deserve to be fucked.

  
Every thrust is a little rougher than the last, his cock sliding smoothly through his own precome, the feeling of Draco’s thighs quivering almost helplessly around him and his little cries throw Harry off the edge and he comes between those pale thighs with a loud scream.

  
Draco whimpers as the heat of Harry’s come spreads on his skin, dribbles down his thighs and onto the bed. Harry feels Draco’s own cock pulsing in his hand as he comes over Harry’s fist while crying in ecstasy.

  
He feels completely sated at knowing that Draco’s panting breathlessly and coming down from his high completely satisfied, so he moves them to roll Draco on his back. The pale chest covered in silver scars is heaving, Draco’s arm is thrown across his eyes hiding his face from view.

  
Harry reaches down to clean his hand on his discarded pants before coming back to Draco and leaning over him. Feeling Harry’s weight on top of him, Draco moves the arm away and looks up into Harry’s eyes. His face is impossibly flushed, the most colour Harry has ever seen on his face, and his eyes are half-lidded in exhaustion.

  
Harry reaches down between Draco’s thighs and moves his fingers through the wetness there all the while looking at Draco’s face flush even more. _What must it feel like to be touched in such an intimate place? To have Harry’s fingers move there outside of the craziness of fucking?_

  
However it feels, Draco doesn’t seem in a hurry to protest. Instead, his eyes slip closed and his lips part as if in invitation. _Who is Harry to deny?_

  
When he brings his wet finger up to Draco’s lips, an eager tongue slips out and licks the finger clean. Harry can’t help but moan at the sight. Merlin, Draco is going to be the end of him. And he says as much.

  
“I am? What about you with your orders and commands? And that fucked out voice?”

  
“I had no idea what I was doing, I swear.”

  
One grey eye pops open and looks at Harry, he laughs at the sight and leans down to lay down on top of Draco. All of a sudden, exhaustion catches up to him and even Draco sighs tiredly underneath him so he decides it’s time to sleep.

  
They have forever to discuss who will be the end of who in this relationship.

  
"Whom", Draco mumbles sleepily and Harry can't help but laugh till he falls asleep, still smiling at the silly git next to him.

  
***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? I hope you liked your present..
> 
>  
> 
> *If you feel like something in this chapter is familiar, it probably is. I've borrowed a sentence or two from myself, from an old fic.


	22. I will be loving you til we're 70, and my heart could still fall as hard at 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, people! This is where I shall leave you. This is the epilogue to this long-ass story and I hope we all got what we wanted. If I do decide to post another chapter, it'll just be little drabbles of things Harry and Draco got on to in their happy lives. Cheers! 
> 
> You have all been a huge help. The readers who stayed loyal and commented on chapter after chapter, I want you to know that I'd probably have given up if not for your support. 
> 
> To Naa, you have been a most ardent supporter and honestly, I feel like I'm a beaten-down, bleeding boxer and you're the person in my corner motivating me and telling me to get back up and win. Yeah, that's a weirdly vivid image. But my point is, thank you!

Ron is opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

“What is he doing?”, Draco whispers as if he’s afraid he’ll somehow set Ron off. He even sounds concerned for Ron but Harry just shakes his head.

“He’s buffering.”

“What?”

Hermione and Harry share a look, on the brink of rolling their eyes at the stupid men in their lives. As much as Draco knows about the muggle world now, he was an uptight pure-blood wizard for eighteen years and there are things he just wouldn’t know.

“I mean, he’s processing. Coming to terms with it--with us.”

Draco looks enraged for a second, probably defensive and thinking that Ron would disapprove of them. Harry reaches forward and puts a hand on Draco’s elbow, “He always thought I was going to marry his sister, Draco. I’m sure this was a bit of a shock.”

Hermione also jumps in and reassures them, “Well, he did figure it out for himself but he was resisting it. Hoping that he wasn’t right--”

Harry feels Draco tensing under his hand and he interrupts Hermione before she can finish her thought, “Resisting? Does he think I’m not worthy of his precious friend? I will not stand here and--”

Hermione smiles in response, the sight makes Draco cut himself off in surprise. She goes to sit beside her husband and takes his hand in hers before looking up at Draco and saying, “I think it was more about his trauma.”

Harry finds himself looking at her with raised eyebrows when she continues, “He was eating dinner a few nights ago when I was saying something about your fight with Draco and how it’d hurt you and then all of a sudden, he got this look on his face. His eyes bulged, cheeks completely red and he looked like he was going to be sick. That’s when he figured it out.”

Draco’s voice is meek when he asks, “Sick?”

“I’m certain that he was imagining you in a rather--uhm, intimate setting. And then, he squeaked which I’m sure came from him thinking back to Hogwarts and your fights or perhaps more scenes of the intimate kind, if you know what I mean.”

Harry knows what she means and would like to unhear everything she has said. From the looks of it, Draco seems to be thinking along the same lines.

Hermione is quietly enjoying the sight of three speechless men, turning redder by the minute.

Eventually, Ron comes out of his trance and congratulates Harry by shaking his hand as if they are rivals on a quidditch pitch. But his awkwardness with Harry is nothing compared to how he just freezes in front of Draco and they both stand there like crups looking at each other, sussing the other out.

Harry and Hermione leave them to it and get tea, Hermione smiling at him every so often and telling just how happy she is for him.

When Ron does reappear, he’s tomato red and without Draco. On Harry’s inquiry, he tells them: “He’s uh--gone up to your--his--the bedroom. Said he needed something from there.”

“Ron, are you--is this going to be a problem?”

He looks affronted by the question but it is a legitimate worry for Harry.

“No. No, it’s your life, Harry. I’ll support you no matter what, mate. I just...”

“What is it, Ron?”

Ron shakes his head and seems to be struggling with what to say. Then, with a deep breath and a determined expression, he says: “I’m just surprised it’s him. I mean--actually, I’m not; not really. I always knew you were obsessed with him but--”

“Ron!”

Ignoring his wife’s chastising tone, Ron continues: “I’m just saying that when I thought of you with a bloke, I pictured some French bloke with bad English and a little girly but then Malfoy is girly when you think about--”

“Ronald!”

He lifts his hands in defense and almost hides behind Harry to get away from his fuming wife while Harry just stands there laughing at Ron’s very active imagination. Eventually, they’ll finish this conversation and everything will be fine, Harry knows.

“Look, all I’m saying is Draco Malfoy is not who I thought you would go for. He’s--he--you do remember eight years of fighting and punching and duelling with him, right? I mean, you hated each other and almost killed--wait!”

Harry stops sniggering for a second to find Ron staring at the floor in horror. Surely, something good is coming next, surely--

“--unless that was foreplay. Was it?”

“No, it most certainly was not foreplay, Weasley!”

They all turn around to find Draco sauntering into the room with a mask of cool indifference strapped firmly into place. He stops beside Harry but continues to address Ron, “As we discussed earlier, I was just as surprised by this development when Harry first returned from France, as you are now. I most certainly did not have any interest in him at Hogwarts and neither did he. All I can say on the topic is that somehow our wires got crossed and now here we are.”

Ron nods at him and doesn’t say anything else.

Later, he will sit by the fireplace in his home and rant at his wife about the improbability of Harry and Draco ending up together. And he’ll listen intently when she’ll tell him just how far Harry had fallen.

Then, he’ll understand. Then, he’ll say: “Against all these odds, they still ended up together after all this time. It must be destined.”

***

It is in no one’s best interest when Pansy Parkinson comes to visit while Ron is already over at 12 Grimmauld Place for a long overdue pint with Harry and Draco.

Harry can see how well this is going to end, but Draco is doing his Slytherin thing and quietly observing where this will go and makes no effort to stall the situation.

Of course, it ends up going sideways ten minutes into the night, just as Harry had predicted.

Ron belches loudly like he would if it was just the two of them, but of course since they are now joined by Slytherin Royalty, it doesn’t go over so well. Pansy and Draco both screw up their noses in disgust but shut up when they see the look on Harry’s face.

It goes downhill from that moment because Ron and Pansy somehow end up beside each other on the sofa, thoroughly pissed and exchanging stories about Harry and Draco. The two men in question sit opposite the gossiping pair, nervously looking at their mates in anticipation of what is to come next.

He discreetly leans a little toward Draco and can’t keep the bitchiness out of his voice, “I told you this was a bad idea.”

Draco, in turn, hisses and sneers in that way Harry absolutes hates: “Why didn’t you tell them to leave, then?”

“You were the one who--”

His words die on his tongue when he hears what Ron is telling Pansy. Snapping his head around to look at his best mate with pleading eyes, his mind is a constant mantra of _no, no no no please no--_

“--because Harry was moping around like a heroin from one of those Victorian love novels. He was proper pining, drinking and falling asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace. Twice or thrice when I came over to help him up, he was half asleep and mumbling, ‘Draco, ‘s that you?’ It was all very traumatising for me when I finally figured out that he was pining for Draco.”

Harry can feel his face burning and wants to throttle Ronald Bilius Weasley to certain death. Beside him, he can hear Draco sniggering but he stops short on a gasp when Pansy decides to do her due duties toward her mate.

Her voice is startlingly loud in the absolute silence of the house: “Alright, Weasley, fair enough. But this one”, she says, pointing a red nailed finger toward Draco, “fell asleep on top of his cat and Abraxas had to crawl out from underneath a grown drunk man, snoring on top of him. The hairy bastard was so traumatized, he didn’t eat for two days.”

“Wow”, Ron’s exclamation is the only sound in the room.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see Draco sitting extremely still like prey waiting for a predator to pounce. Harry can’t say he feels much different.

When their eyes meet, a silent decision is made: they usher Ron and Pansy home before any more embarrassing tales can come out.

Ron and Pansy’s peels of laughter linger long after they’ve both flooed to their respective homes but the remaining two both decide to ignore the so called elephant in the room.

Until Draco asks him if he’s gone blind, right before Harry slips into sleep that night. In his semi-conscious state, he asks Draco why he thinks Harry is blind.

Draco’s answer doesn’t register in his sleep-addled brain, he’ll only remember it next morning.

“Why else would you ever mistake a Weasley for me?”

***  
He has no idea how he ended up here: minding a drunk Harry Potter and an even more drunk Pansy Parkinson. Additionally, Ron and Hermione Weasley are also present but currently indisposed doing _Draco has no intention of finding out what_.

Clearly, something went wrong somewhere otherwise why would he be doing this of all the important things in the world he could be doing?

Sighing, he takes a sip of his own wine and looks up just in time to find Hermione stepping through the doorway. Behind her, Ron Weasley enters - his face at least as red as his hair if not more.

In his mad panic to unsee the ghastly sight and unfollow the pathways his mind has already ventured down, Draco tunes back in to the drunk conversation happening in front of him.

“--I love that look on his face when he’s about to rant about something that’s important to him. And you can see it in his eyes, they turn into the colour of stormy skies – all intense and passionate. It’s the colour of the sea--”

With a start, Draco realizes that Harry is talking about him. The idiot is waxing poetic about Draco, and his face is making all these expressions of a besotted, love-sick fool and Draco can’t believe he fell for a Gryffindork.

Apparently, the Saviour has more to add to his drunken ramblings: “If I’d known he looked like that when he was fuming and ranting, I’d have stuck around to get insulted more often.”

_Now that’s just--_

Pansy snorts and waves her hand around dismissively, which would look all aloof and effortless if she wasn’t completely pissed and her wrist could support the weight of her own hand, not leaving it flopping around like a fish.

Draco can’t help but roll his eyes at the two idiots in front of him, one being a sentimental drunk and the other so inebriated as to lose all sense of her own movements.

Still, Pansy Parkinson is nothing if not stubborn, so of course she glares at her own hand as if threatening it to behave or else. When it, being a non-sentient body part, doesn’t respond she pushes on: “You don’t know what you’re saying, Potter.”

The green-eyed berk looks confused and hurt by her dismissal and if anyone were to describe him in this instant, they would undoubtedly use the word ‘cute’. Not Draco, though. Someone else.

“What do you mean?”

Pansy sighs as if the burden of the world has been put on her shoulders and the look she gives Draco clearly states _I’m about to ruin this for you._

Before he can shut her up though, she is off: “At Hogwarts, Draco started the day with a long rant about you, ‘Oh Potter, that imbecile! That mop on top of his head, those ugly glasses, those stupid eyes. Potter is a bastard!’ And this was all before he’d even finished breakfast.”

While the Gryffindors in the room listen with keen interest, bar Hermione’s sniggering, Draco sits there in abject mortification trying to think of an appropriate way to exact revenge on Pansy Parkinson for doing this to him.

Turns out, he needn’t have bothered because she’s not done yet. Now, in the best mood she has been all night, Pansy sits up as if she’s talking about the most interesting topic in the world. Her audience is in a similarly bright mood.

Draco sits there scowling at her, but to no effect. He is completely ignored by everyone in the room.

Tales of his embarrassing childhood galore: “He once spent two hours outlining, in excruciating detail, everything that’s wrong with your chin. If you were present for those rants, I don’t think you’d find his stormy grey eyes passionate anymore, Potter.”

Harry gets that sickeningly sweet look on his face once again as he turns to look at Draco and says, “Oh, I don’t know, Parkinson. I could listen to a lot worse to see that look on his face.”

He can feel his ears burning in that way when he’s embarrassed to the very roots of his hair, but Harry insists on holding his eye even as Ron is making gagging noises somewhere in the background. Why did he have to fall for this idiot? This idiot, who insists on making a public spectacle of them both. This git, who says stupidly corny things in front of people they see everyday.

Merlin, he must be losing his mind if this is the man he wants to spend his life with.

He looks away to catch Pansy exclaiming, “Circe, someone is utterly besotted!”

Before he can change the subject, Hermione jumps in with her two knuts: “Tell me about it, I had to sit through an hour long dissertation of why Draco is the perfect choice to be on the cover of every magazine in the world. And this was two weeks ago.”

“You think I could be a model?”

Draco’s spoken before he even realizes it.

He could hex himself for sounding so amazed and so _Hufflepuff_ but Harry doesn’t seem to notice.

No, all he does is turn to Draco with the sincerest smile and says, “I think you _are_ a model.”

Draco touches his hair self-consciously, feeling a little warm under the collar. Hermione and Pansy’s collective voices break the sudden silence.

“Awww.”

“Awww.”

Ron Weasley groans at his wife’s cooing and turns to face Harry with a pleading face.

“Mate, please stop.”

***  
Most people didn’t bother to comment on the news of his sexuality or his new relationship, at least not to his face. And Harry has never really bothered with what people think of him so it’s been a surprisingly okay revelation.

Except for the incident when he’s being forced to go to Madam Malkin’s by Draco because of _the despicable and pitiful state of your wardrobe, Potter. Boy Who Lived Shabbily, they should call you! Boy who lived like a peasant--_

Anyway, he’s been dragged kicking and screaming, and now here they are walking down Diagon Alley, for the first time as lovers. Despite the good response and Draco’s insistence on acting casually, Harry is a little nervous. Mostly, because he had been here multiple times with Draco when they were working on the case and even then people had turned around and stared.

Now, when they know that Harry and Draco are together, they are bound to stare and point and whisper. _But think of what you have now_ , his mind supplies.

He looks beside him and sees Draco walking in that self-assured Malfoy way, his chin raised defiantly and his long legs moving elegantly, and Harry shakes off all other thoughts.

Just a few weeks ago, he had been walking down this same street and this same spot, hurting and breaking inside because he didn’t have what he has now: the man next to him.

Feeling content all of a sudden, he reaches down and takes Draco’s hand in his. The blond turns to him sharply and looks down at him wide eyes, but they don’t stop walking. No, Harry keeps looking ahead, walking and squeezing Draco’s hand in his. Slowly, Draco turns to look ahead too as they pass through the busy street unnoticed.

Not completely unnoticed though, because just as they cross in front of Ollivander’s, Harry hears an angry voice saying, “Death Eater scum!”

His feet stop moving of their own accord but Draco keeps moving, and their linked hands stretch between them. When Harry looks at Draco, he sees unwavering eyes looking back at him. A subtle shake of the head tells him that Draco doesn’t want him to cause a scene.

Well, too bad.

“What did you just say?”, Harry asks in a controlled but warning tone. He’s going to give this person a chance to walk away. But only one.

A shabby looking man emerges from a small group gathered across the street, he sneers at a spot beside Harry and hisses, “You heard me.”

“I didn’t fight a war for you to spit such shit at people!”

“No, you fought a war so you carry on with your perversions. So you could do disgusting things with other men!”

Harry is so thrown by the venom this man is spewing that he forgets to speak. People are starting to gather around them, watching and waiting for what Harry will do next.

Meanwhile, the man steps even closer and points to where Draco is still clutching Harry’s hand - a lot more strongly now. But the very next second, Draco wrenches his hand away as if he’s been burned.

This, more than anything, stings Harry. He doesn’t even see the man now, all he sees is Draco who isn’t looking back at Harry. He’s looking down on the ground, his eyes fixed in front of him even when he must know that Harry is looking at him.

His attention is snatched by the man again, who is now trying a new technique: “You are not a shift-lifter. You can’t be! You’re better than _this_!”

The man spits on the ground in front of Draco, and the venom in his voice is chilling to the very bone but Draco isn’t stepping down. For the tiniest of moments, Harry is stunned at watching Draco stand his ground.

He knows that Draco is not the same scared boy he was in the war, he knows that Draco is a totally different man now but seeing it in front him; seeing Draco stand his ground against this man who could hurt him or kill him drives home how much Draco has changed.

He is probably scared inside, you can’t change that much, can’t change the basic composition of a person but despite that, he isn’t running away. And that’s braver than stupidly standing your ground some times.

And while Harry has been lost in this inner monologue, the man has stepped even closer and is spitting more venom, “--disgusting and pathetic. You killed You-Know-Who and saved us all! You are a war hero, an example to our children! You can’t do this, you can’t mix with Death Eater scum!”

That’s it, Harry can’t stand here and listen any more. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone and he certainly doesn’t want to fight so he doesn’t even bother drawing his wand.

He’s going to talk to this man and--before he even knows what’s happening, Draco pushes him aside and Harry loses his balance, falling to the ground roughly. When he looks up, it’s to find Draco being punched by the man and him retaliating similarly.

Harry’s frozen for the briefest moment before he pushes off the ground and draws his wand, swiftly casting an _Incarcerous_ at the man. He goes down in a pile right where he stood just a moment ago, bound in rope.

People who had stopped to watch this scene but didn’t bother to intervene are now murmuring and pointing.

Harry puts a hand on Draco’s shoulder to turn him around, and Draco faces him with a broken nose and a bloody face. Harry reaches forward to gingerly touch his chin, preparing to cast the mending charm when Draco reaches up and grips his wrist.

With a bloody smile and a gasp, he says: “We’re even now, Potter. I broke your nose once and now I have a broken nose thanks to you.”

Shaking his head at the poor attempt at chivalry from a Slytherin, Harry casts _Episkey_ and apparates them home.

No one mentions the incident, Draco just goes on like it didn’t happen and forces Harry to go to a fancier place to get fitted for robes. Harry goes along because he would do anything for Draco, even stand around in his pants getting groped by an old Italian man while Draco barks orders at the shop workers to bring him this cloth and that robe.

Harry gets out of the shop a thousand galleons poorer and with a long list of orders that’ll be ready in two weeks’ time. Oh and Draco, who looks like Harry has given him the moon.

“Are you this happy because I spent a thousand galleons on robes?”

Draco turns to him with a smile, “I’m happy because you’re finally getting nice robes. You deserve to be dressed properly, in expensive robes. And I was paying for them, you’re the one who stopped me.”

“I don’t want you spending that much money on me.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Potter. They have your measurements now, I will be spending a lot more than a thousand galleons in there.”

“But you shouldn’t--”

Draco abruptly turns around and takes a step toward him, Harry steps back instinctively and finds his back hitting something. Draco doesn’t stop moving till they’re standing chest to chest, he leans down and whispers, “Are you saying you don’t want me to buy gifts for you? Don’t want me to spoil you rotten?”

If anyone else had asked him that, Harry would’ve said no. He would’ve said no and been angry at them, offended even, because he doesn’t want or need anyone spoiling him.

But with Draco, he just swallows and nods.

The git looks down at him, lips widening in a smile before he turns around and starts walking.

“I _will_ spoil you rotten, Harry Potter. Just like you deserve to be spoiled.”

***  
No one mentions the incident till the next day’s Prophet headline reads:

**Malfoy heir defends Saviour, lover against attack; ends up with a bloody nose!**

This is followed by a photo of Draco stepping in front of him and pushing Harry to the ground. The loop shows Harry falling and Draco being hit in the nose by the man’s fist and if photographs contained sounds, Harry is sure they would hear a loud CRUNCH as the fist connected with Draco’s nose.

As it is, he’s mesmerized by the sight of Draco jumping in front of him. Of Draco defending him with his own body. Of Draco protecting him.

When he finally recovers from the sight and unfreezes to look up from the paper, Draco is nowhere to be seen. He follows the sound of cutlery into the kitchen and sees Draco standing with his back to Harry.

He approaches and moulds himself to Draco’s back. The blond melts against him and Harry grinds his hips forward without a warning. Draco gasps in surprise so Harry thrusts again, this time with more purpose.

Draco moans and moves his head to the side, offering Harry his neck. By now, they know each other’s bodies like their own and Harry knows that if he scrapes his teeth down the side of Draco’s neck, he’s going to--

“Aaaah!”

He thrusts again; this time, pushes his cock deliberately against Draco’s hole and keeps it there for a moment before pulling back. Draco’s hands come down to grab the kitchen shelf as he pushes back against Harry and then in a rush of movement, they’re ripping off clothes and murmuring spells and then Harry is pushing Draco against the shelf once again and entering him in one swift thrust.

Draco’s hands are gripping the counter as he pushes back against Harry and impaling himself further on his cock. Harry just can’t last long, he can’t. The sight of Draco’s back straining and stretching, his legs spread around Harry’s and the sounds escaping his mouth as he fucks himself on Harry’s cock is too much for him. _How can any mortal man see this and not lose himself?_

Then, he remembers the photo again.

Without thinking, his hands grip Draco’s hips, fingers digging into pale flesh as he steadies those hips and stops them moving. Draco whines at the disruption but Harry has other plans. He leans forward and presses himself along Draco’s back, finds his ear and says, “Hold on to the shelf for me, I’m going to fuck you hard.”

Then, he stands up straight and thrusts into Draco with everything he’s got. A loud whine from the man underneath him is all the encouragement he needs, and he’s pounding into Draco hard and fast.

Words and sounds are falling from both their mouths without restriction, and the only other sound is of flesh hitting flesh as Harry fucks Draco from behind.

“Looked so fucking hot, pushing me away like that. Stepping in front of me, defending me. Gods, Draco, that was so fucking hot!”

“Nnnnngghh!”

“Calling me a hero and a show-off, when you’re showing off like that. But Circe, it was so bloody hot!”

“Harry, harry--”

“Hold on.”

He’s in the midst of fucking Draco and doesn’t hear the floo flaring to life and absolutely doesn’t notice the figure in the kitchen doorway, standing there frozen and staring at them.

No, he doesn’t notice any of these things because he’s so so close and then Draco is clenching around him and screaming and a moment later, he’s coming and falling forward onto Draco absolutely exhausted.

When they go to see Ron and Hermione later, Draco notices that Hermione isn’t looking him in the eye and every time Harry talks to her, she turns a ghastly shade of red.

His eyes widen when it hits him and he pulls Harry aside to tell him.

They leave because three out of the four people in the room are flushing and stuttering and the fourth person is a blissfully oblivious Ron Weasley, which doesn’t help anyone.

***

He’s supposed to be attending an important meeting at the Ministry; Kingsley Shacklebolt had specifically asked him to be present to _utilize your expertise, Mr. Malfoy_ , he had said. Smiling to himself, Draco pulls on a crisp white shirt and picks up the cuff links from the dresser.

The Malfoy crest, subtle yet visible, on the square cufflinks reminds him of watching Father get dressed as a young boy and thinking just how proper and elegant he looked. Shaking off the memory, Draco fastens the cufflinks and turns away from the mirror because he can’t meet his own eyes when there’s that battle within him: the Malfoy heir v/s Draco battle.

Turning, he finds a messy haired Saviour looking up at him from the bed: sleep rumpled and with a foolishly wide smile on his face. He’s watching Draco through sleepy eyes but his gaze is sharp, like it always has been.

“What’re you grinning about?”

“Nothing”, he presses his face into the pillow for a moment as if that’ll hide that wide smile.

Draco stands there without making a single noise, knowing that Harry expects him to have looked away and busied himself. And sure enough, a moment later, Harry moves his head and looks up again.

His hair is a horrendous mess even more so than usual and he’s smiling like he knows something the rest of the world doesn’t and he looks completely unguarded. _Unguarded_ , a voice in his head whispers, b _ut not vulnerable or weak. Harry Potter is never weak._

Draco turns away from him and starts to button up his shirt, still feeling that gaze on him, “Right.”

It’s usually quiet like this in the mornings and Draco really treasures this time: the silence and the intimacy that comes from a comfortable silence. Never had he thought he’d have this in his lifetime. Never had he considered himself deserving of finding this.

_Circe, but why is he so maudlin today?_

Putting these thoughts out of his mind, he looks in the mirror to find Harry still looking at him. He’s sprawled across the bed, the sheet covering his calves and legs as he lays there on his stomach with his head pillowed on his arms and watches Draco like he’s an exhibit: “Harry, why are you being an idiot?”

The git just chuckles in response, and bites his lip. Draco stares at him in the mirror, waiting for an answer.

What he gets is Harry shuffling closer to the edge of the bed and running his fingers along the hardwood floor. When he looks up at Draco, it’s through dark lashes and Draco can tell that Harry’s seeing a blurry figure of him. And yet, he says: “You can’t look that fit and just expect me to act normally.”

For a moment, he just stands there dumbfounded because how can anyone say such brash things? He would combust on the spot if he had accidentally said something like that, he’s not prudish by any stretch of the imagination but saying something so--so--

“Did I break you, Draco?”

Stupid gryffindork.

“No, I’m just debating whether that’s a compliment or an insult, given that you’re blind as a bat and are calling me fit.”

He smirks, that cocky little smirk the Chosen One could use to build an army if he wanted to but Draco has never seen him smirk like that at anyone else.

_Merlin, what is this alternate reality he has stepped into where Harry Potter is in his bed, sleepily piling compliments on him while he gets ready for work?_

“I don’t need to see you to know that you’re fit as fuck.”

_There’s that cocky arrogance again._

“Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Potter?”

He’s expecting a bashful maybe, or even a blush and an abrupt end to whatever this is but Harry surprises him with a determined, “Yes.”

While he’s standing there with his hands paused on a button, Harry reaches out an arm and his hand runs up Draco’s leg teasingly. He stays where he is, staring at Harry as the fingers move up his knee and back down till Harry’s got a firm grip around his ankle.

_Why is he almost shivering just by Harry’s hand on his ankle?_

Then, his grip loosens and he runs fingers down Draco’s foot, slowly and tantalisingly moving toward his toes and this absurd act is somehow so intimate that Draco doesn’t even realize it but he’s jumping on the bed on top of Harry and pushing him into the mattress while Harry rips off the brand new shirt he had just put on.

And just like that, the peace of the morning is gone and is replaced by Draco fucking Harry into the mattress loud enough for the elf to be muttering about perverts living in Mistress’ house.

Draco doesn’t really lament the loss of comfortable silence.

He does, however, lament being late for the meeting.

But above all, he doesn’t lament falling in love with a stupid Gryffindor.

***  
He hates the speccy bastard.

_Stupid, four-eyed, Gryffindor prick--_

He startles and lets out a very manly yelp when he turns around and finds Hermione standing behind him.

She gives him a moment to recover before asking him if he’d mind making her a cup of tea. Of course, he wouldn’t.

Busying himself in this chore, he tries to make small talk with her in an effort to forget the reason he wants to tear out his own hair in frustration.

Then, she goes and mentions the reason.

“Uh, where’s Harry?”

His lips opens to answer but of course, he’s beaten to it by a loud voice echoing through the house: “I’m up here!”

Already at his patience’s end, Draco forgets all of his mother’s etiquette teachings and responds in an equally loud voice, “Don’t yell from the second floor, you twat!”

Loud footsteps thud down the stairs but the arsehole’s voice carries over the sound: “ _You_ don’t yell from the first floor, you git!”

By the time he finishes setting down the cups on the shelf, they’re greeted by the Savior of the Wizarding World walking through the kitchen doorway, half drowning in and half dragging a quilt on the floor behind him.

Closing his eyes in frustration and counting to five in his head doesn’t really do much, but at least Draco doesn’t yell.

No, he calmly turns to their guest and says, “See, Granger? This is what I have to deal with.”

Her brown eyes widen in concern but she needn’t have worried because the Chosen dick rudely interrupts her.

“What you have to deal with? I’m the one dealing here!”

Draco busies himself with putting a cube of sugar in Hermione’s cup and with his back to them both, dryly mutters: “Oh, are you.”

He has to bite down on a smile when he hears Potter’s angry, caveman grunting in response.

Granger takes this moment of silence to interrupt them, “Boys! What is this about?”

“Well, Potter was being a prick!”

“Draco was being an arse!”

That somehow makes them all quiet for a moment. Draco revels in the blessed silence, which he knows is short-lived.

He’s pouring water into the cups when Potter speaks again, “Uh, what’re you doing here, Hermione?”

That’s an incredibly rude thing to say to a guest and Draco would never ask anyone that, but apparently a year of horcrux hunting with someone makes all that irrelevant, according to Harry Potter. Gryffindors really are strange, Draco thinks.

“Well, I just came to check where you were, Draco, since you didn’t come in this morning—“

“Your bastard of a secretary miss him, did he?”, the venom in Potter’s voice is absolutely disgusting and whoever thinks he’s not capable of being hateful and contemptuous should be here right now listening to this.

Of course, Draco doesn’t have the patience to express himself quite so eloquently when his blood is boiling so instead he says, “Shut up, Potter, you jealous twat!”

Potter throws the quilt off revealing silk pants, and squares his shoulders as if he’s going into battle.

“I am the jealous twat? Which one of us threw a fit about baseless rumors in the _Daily Prophet_?”

“You snogged her in a Ministry lift!” - _that was a completely reasonable fit, dammit._

“And what about that posh bastard that still sends you disgustingly big bouquets every week? What about him, you pointy git?”

Harry’s in his face, pointing and screaming and Draco is really tired of having this argument over and over. By this point, he can’t even bring himself to yell so he answers Harry’s anger with a calm composure, “He’s delusional, _you_ should know that.”

Oops, maybe he shouldn’t have implied--

“Are you calling me delusional? You were the one that didn’t realize I loved you till I announced it to the papers! You actually thought I was going out with Cho!”

Having an angry Gryffindor in his face is not Draco’s idea of a good morning but if he’s getting yelled at by some indolent Savior about perfectly plausible reasonings, then he’s going to yell right back.

“You never addressed those rumours, you speccy bastard!”

“Oh, so I should address rumours but you should let that posh wanker think you’re going to marry him?”

Draco wants to walk over to the wall and hit his head against it, at least then he’ll have some kind of result. Arguing about this with the _King of Stupid_ is certainly fruitless.

For the hundredth time, Draco repeats: “I’m _not_ going to marry him!”

“He doesn’t know that! He thinks you’ll leave me and go to him.”

A flash of fear in Harry’s eyes makes Draco step forward toward him, because what does it matter what anyone but they think.

“Let him think what he wants, you dolt!”

“No!”

Confused by Harry’s vehement refusal, Draco just asks, “No?”

“No, you should marry me!”

Merlin, there’s that stupid idea again!

Granger stands up from the table where she had been quietly sipping on her tea and moves toward them with a hand outstretched as if placating wild animals.

She is particularly looking at her best mate with a worried expression, “Uh, Harry? Don’t do anything rash--Harry?“

Draco turns to her because finally someone understands his position: “See? This is what we were fighting-- _are_ fighting about. After three weeks of dating, he wants to get married.”

The git, of course, still doesn’t see the point and stomps his foot like a three year old throwing a tantrum, “But I’ve wanted you for ages, since we were little!”

That’s laughable!

“No, you didn’t. You hated me and I hated you.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night!”

Draco’s eyes almost bulge out of his head at hearing Harry say that-- _what--why--_

“What the fuck would you say that for? That was private!”

“Hermione knows everything about me.” The git looks suspiciously calm about this and his answer is something Draco isn’t comfortable with at all. He can feel his left eye ticking, a sure sign of just how close he is to doing what the Dark Lord failed to do.

“You’ve been telling her how we fuck?”

Granger steps closer, hesitation and panic clear on her face and in her voice, which trembles a little when she says: “N-no, he hasn’t.”

Potter, on the other hand, tilts up his chin in defiance,“So what if I do? You tell Pansy!”

“No, I don’t. She just knows stuff about me.”

He hadn’t seen Potter sneer since Hogwarts - hadn’t even thought him capable of such an expression anymore - and now he has. He’d fit right into Slytherin, Draco thinks as the git sneers at him and hisses, “Oh she just knows, does she?”

“You are so infuriating, Potter!”

“So are you! Marry me.”

“Are you out of your bloody mind, Scarhead?”

“Marry me!”

He sounds like a petulant child demanding Honeydukes rather than the man who killed the darkest wizard of their age and Draco really can’t remember why he likes this man-child. _Are they really having this argument right now?_

“No!”

“Why not? I love you and I want everyone to know.”

“They already know.”

“But I want that posh bastard to know! We’re going to be together till you get old and wrinkly anyway, so marry me.” 

“Fine, yes!”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

Granger gasps, her hand flies to her mouth and in a meek voice she whispers, “W-wait. Did you just get engaged?”

The grin on Harry’s face is manic and he looks like he has just caught the World Cup snitch; he looks about ready to dance on the spot, the hyperactive kneazle of a man.

“We did!”, he yells in a very good imitation of a second year witch telling someone about her crush on an older boy.

Draco couldn’t care less about continuing this debate that’s already stretched too far for his liking. He just wants a cup of tea and this morning’s paper so he can go sit in a quiet corner somewhere and nurse the growing headache this conversation has given him.

Finding two pairs of eyes staring at him in anticipation and curiosity, he just sighs and says, “Sure.”

The easily excitable Gryffindors are hugging and kissing behind him as he pours himself a tea and goes in search of today’s paper.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks!


	23. Epilogue - You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, folks. This is me tying up all the lose ends. There were always going to be 23 chapters, I had this planned as an assortment of drabbles from Harry and Draco's happily-ever-after. Then, based on your comments, it evolved into this. 
> 
> So far in this, Harry's always been the one to put up with Draco's moods. I think it's mostly because he had fallen early on - utterly and completely - and because Draco didn't seem to feel the same way, Harry was always watching what he said and was on his best behaviour in general. At least, after he realised what he felt for this new version of Draco Malfoy. 
> 
> Now that he knows Draco loves him back, now he unleashes the sassy!Harry that's been hidden behind pining all this time. I always thought that Harry would put up with Draco's snits and Draco would be used to being taken care of. Draco would have Harry wrapped around his little finger. But, in actuality, Draco is the one who'd fall the hardest. He'd huff and puff and whine but he'd put up with the comeback machine that is Harry Potter. 
> 
> So anyway, this is how I see them after the angst and the pining: competitively sassy, snarky, and sarcastic!

When Draco goes back to work, he's really mysterious about it. Even when Harry asks him point blank, he just says that he works for the Ministry and nothing more.

It feels like a hostage negotiation, to be honest, with him pushing and probing and Draco not giving him even an inch.

"What level are you on?"

"Can't say."

"Unspeakable?"

"Can't say."

"You are!"

"Uh, let me see. Can't say!"

"Okay, but I know that you are."

"Think what you want."

Well, Harry's 100% certain that Draco is an Unspeakable. That he works on the Ninth level, does weird experiments and knows random facts about things that regular people know nothing of. Harry is sure.

Then, Draco announces that he'll be working from home for a while. That messes up Harry's deduction completely. Because surely the Ministry would never let an Unspeakable do any confidential experiments at home.

"Then, you're not an Unspeakable?"

The git just smirks and walks away without an answer.

***  
He was not expecting Kingsley Shaklebolt to be sitting at the drawing room table of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, quietly sipping tea.

And because he was not expecting this, he didn't bother putting on trousers when he got out of bed.

The look on the Minister's face when he sees a shirtless and trouserless Harry Potter step into the room will be forever engraved in Harry's mind. Deeply mortified, he somehow finds the presence of mind to move and is currently hiding behind the curtains to try and salvage whatever's left of his dignity while Draco cackles--maniacally cackles--at his misfortune.

Then, a moment later when he's done laughing and wiping tears from his eyes, he's the perfect picture of calm composure as he exclaims: "Where are your manners, Potter? The Minister for Magic doesn't want to see your pants, I'm sure."

"Why didn't you tell me he was here??!!"

All he gets in response is a shrug before the smug bastard lifts the teacup to his lips, hiding a huge grin no doubt.

"I hope you burn your tongue, you towheaded bastard--", he murmurs but apparently not quiet enough.

"Did you say something, Harry?", the sweetness of his tone does nothing to cover the sharp edge right underneath. And Harry doesn't doubt for one second that the git would hex him right in front of Kingsley if he actually heard what Harry had just called him.

"I'm just going to put my trousers on."

Slinking out of the room with only a curtain preserving his modesty while the Minister for Magic sits right across from him sipping tea, is an experience he will surely remember till he's in the ground.

When he comes back, fully dressed, and enquires after Kingsley's visit, he gets an unexpected answer: "I want you back at the Ministry, Harry."

He looks from Kingsley's constant stare to Draco's curious eyes, with thoughts swirling in his caffeine craving mind.

"I appreciate the offer, sir, but I don't want to be an Auro--"

Kingsley cuts him off with a raised hand and a quick clarification, "I know. I am not offering you a job, Harry. I am asking you to finish the case you came here for."

"But that case is cold, there was no trail for me to follow."

"There is a new lead, as I was just telling Mr. Malfoy."

Despite his better understanding, instinct kicks in and his mind is already wandering down pathways when Kingsley's voice interrupts him.

"There was another sighting, and another auror hurt."

"Are they--did he kill again?"

"No, Auror Greene is at St. Mungo's. Gravely injured but alive."

He looks at Draco, hoping that his face will betray how he feels about this. All he finds are grey eyes looking back at him with a challenge in them.

"Is Draco coming back too?"

"No, Mr. Malfoy is rather preoccupied with another task. Is that a problem?"

He sees his chance, and he takes it. "What task?"

Draco's eyes widen in surprise but before he cay say anything, Kingsley's already answering.

"He is back to his usual duties."

"Which are?"

Kingsley sits up straighter, very much the image of power and control. Harry holds his own and doesn't back down.

"He is working on a very important potion."

"For the Ministry?"

"That is classif--"

"So, no. If it's a potion he is making on his own time and money, then why is the Ministry paying him? It must be a very important potion."

Kingsley tries to hide the small smile lingering at the side of his mouth but Harry sees it. And he sits there waiting.

Finally, one of them breaks.

"You may have heard rumours of a new Wolfsbane potion being developed. Mr. Malfoy has been solely undertaking this effort for the Ministry for two years."

To say he sits there gobsmacked, is likely an understatement.

"Two years?!"

"It is a very delicate procedure to tweak and poke old, established potions."

" _Potions_? More than one?"

Kingsley is the one answering him because Draco won't even look at Harry. He's sitting silently, eyes masterfully avoiding anyone else's. Something tells Harry he doesn't want to be here for this conversation.

"Much more", answers Kingsley Shacklebolt with a quietly respectful tone.

Harry remembers months ago when he had seen Draco at the Ministry function for the first time in years and wondered to himself if he could be the one making the dragon pox potion. Remembers how he had been almost sure of it and then completely forgotten about it in the whirlwind of the case.

Something else is niggling at his memory, something--

Lavender, Valerian sprigs, _Moonstone.._

It can't be.

"You were brewing Wolfsbane when I touched yo--" 

Draco's eyes widen in alarm when Harry mentions that time he had almost come in his trousers by just standing close behind Draco. "Yes", he admits, swiftly cutting Harry off in his sentence.

Draco was brewing wolfsbane right in front of Harry! Merlin...

"He is now very close to finishing it and therefore, I have allowed him to work from home where he can concentrate the most."

Nodding his head at Kingsley's answer, Harry lets his mind wander. Draco Malfoy, the boy who had teased Remus about his lycanthropy at Hogwarts, has been trying to make an improved Wolfsbane potion for two years.

Draco Malfoy has done what Severus Snape couldn't do. What no witch or wizard could do in centuries.

Draco Malfoy, _his Draco_ , has invented a better Wolfsbane potion that the wizarding world has been gossiping about for ages.

"--you alright? Harry?"

He finds two worried faces looking at him, and all he can do is blink.

"Harry?"

"I'm fine, I just..."

He can picture Draco working tirelessly in his potions lab at his flat, labouring over ingredients and hoping that it'll be right this time. Then, he remembers the wolfsbane potion Hermione mentioned, that Mrs. Dawlish was giving her grandson and-- _did Hermione know that Draco had brewed that potion? Does anyone know?_

"You--you made the dragon pox cure, didn't you? You're the one everyone has been praising. Why haven't you come forward? Why the secrecy?"

It's a habit of his to jump to the worst conclusion so of course in his mind, he's thinking that the Ministry doesn't want to name a Death Eater as the most accomplished potions master of this age. The Ministry doesn't want to acknowledge Draco's hard work an--

"It was Mr. Malfoy's decision to remain anonymous", comes Kingsley's response before Harry can accuse him of anything.

When he turns to look at Draco, he finds a Malfoy looking back at him. A Malfoy who would much sooner die than show you what he's feeling or thinking. Harry can't let this go silently, he's let a lot of things go for Draco's sake but not this.

"Drac--"

"I don't want people refusing the potion because my name is associated with it. I know you think that we live in a reformed world, Harry, but we don't. I was and always will be a Death Eater to some people. And I don't want that to come in the way of progress."

And that's the end of that conversation.

Harry accompanies Kingsley to the Ministry to look at the new evidence in the case, and Draco stays behind to work on his potion.

When he gets into bed that night, he lies down behind Draco and pulls him back into his arms. Draco huffs and puffs in his sleep and pushes back against his chest. Harry kisses the back of his neck and holds him close.

Draco makes an inquisitive sound, turning his head to try and look at Harry.

Harry just holds him close and whispers, "I'm proud of you. And Snape would be too."

Draco doesn't answer, but then Harry doesn't need an answer from him. All he needs is to know that Draco heard him and that he believes Harry.

And if the way he stiffens in Harry's arms before relaxing again is a sign, then Draco has heard.

***

It is immensely satisfying to close the case that has changed the whole course of Harry's life so dramatically.

In the end, it's a Reclamation potion, 'a variation of the Regeneration Potion', Draco says.

The thundering silence of Kingsley's office stretches thickly around the occupants of the room.

The Minister for Magic, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, a DMLE investigator, a representative from the Wizengamot, and Draco Malfoy stand around the room in an unplanned meeting to discuss the gravity of the situation.

Harry has finally caught the wizard responsible for the deaths of three aurors. Everyone present save one is looking intently at Draco, who was requested to come in by the Minister himself.

And Draco had arrived within three minutes, panting and dishevelled. His hair had been the messiest Harry has ever seen and even his clothes weren't completely immaculate. One look at Harry and the way Draco had breathed out in relief, his whole body sagging, told him all he needed to know.

Draco had left hurriedly, worried that something had happened to Harry.

Now, after ten minutes and a full account of what Harry had found when he had followed the masked wizard, Draco is staring at the floor in concentration and making mental calculations that none of them can follow.

When he speaks again, it's very quietly almost as if he's afraid someone else might hear even though they are in one of the most secure rooms in England.

"The wizard you arrested is Cenric Rosier, I believe."

He looks up at Kingsley whose eyes widen in shock at the words.

Harry's about to ask who that is but Kingsley's firm voice echoes around the room, "Rosier? Ar--are you sure?"

Draco nods his head absently, his fingers are white around his wand but Harry doesn't think he's even aware of the movement. After a few moments of silence, Draco makes a determined sound and flicks his wand in the air and a stream of bright light shoots out the end forming an elaborate design of vines and serpents around a large 'R'.

"That's their family crest, the Rosier crest. And your wizard was carrying this cane with the same crest on it. Also, Cenric was an accomplished potioneer in his lifetime before he disappeared and only the most accomplished can brew complex potions like these."

Harry is looking between Draco and Kingsley, waiting for one of them to explain further but both men seem to be lost in their own thoughts. Everyone else seems to be waiting on a bated breath too.

Kingsley's pensive mood lifts for a moment as he turns to face Draco fully, "How do you know it's definitely him, though?"

"The Rosiers had ancient ties with both the Malfoys and the House of Black, quite a few marriages arranged between the families over centuries. I've seen his name and face in the Malfoy family ledger my father used to keep. The Rosiers were one of the last pure-blood families to have stayed pure. But, the last two known members died three years ago. Which, I'm sure coincides with when Cenric started brewing this potion."

Kingsley's shaking his head in disbelief, "Why now though, why resurface after all this time?"

"Dark magic like this takes time to perfect, I suspect he has been keeping himself alive by drinking unicorn blood and waiting for the potion to finish. And I wouldn't be surprised if he vanished all those years ago for the very purpose of discovering the ingredients of the traditional Regeneration potion."

Kingsley seems to be thinking over Draco's words but Harry just doesn't understand why do all this in the first place: "Yeah but why brew this potion at all?"

"Why do people drink the Elixir of life? Why chase after immortality? It's power, Harry. It's why Voldemort wanted to kill you."

Okay, that may not have been the best thing to say given how at least three people pale at Draco's words. Harry shakes his head against the growing irritation inside his mind and focuses on the most pressing issue, "So this bloke was well alive and he wanted to brew a regeneration potion?"

"It's not the same thing, not really. It's a Reclamation potion, sort of. The Rosiers, like any other pure blood family, have their treasure of dark artefacts and family magic, I'm sure. And I would bet a hundred galleons that Cenric found something in there that led him to brewing such a potion. Wait--wasn't there a sickly child in the Rosier family? A young boy who died just before the war?"

Kingsley's face looks ashen as he nods at Draco's enquiry.

"Has anyone searched the Rosier family home in Brighton yet?", Draco's voice echoes off the walls of the huge room.

Harry shakes his head in response: "Well, we didn't know who he was, and I found him on Knockturn so no."

Draco nods at Harry's answer and then turns to Kingsley. He sounds authoritative when he says, "Minister, I think you should send aurors to check the manor in Brighton."

Kingsley steps toward the table, one hand on his wand but he hesitates. Turning around, he asks Draco: "What do you think we'll find there, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I think you might find a young child in a weakened state, not sure how much of him will be young Fredrick, though."

The mood in the room quickly transforms from pure tension to a sadness, a melancholia at the prospect of finding a shadow, a hollow shell of a young child subjected to one of the most brutal potions in the world.

"He was killing anyone who came in the way of him restoring his grandchild. Re-establishing the House of Rosier." Draco's voice trembles over the first few words but he seems to stand higher and force himself to sound tough.

Harry can reconcile Draco's words with the man he had duelled with just an hour ago. Hidden behind a mask and dark robes, the man had been sheer determination even in the face of the strongest spells Harry had thrown his way.

He had stood up time and again; struggling, bruised, bleeding, and close to death. He had been weak even as he'd tried to run away from Harry, but that weakness had taken a backseat against his determination.

And when Harry had finally rendered him unconscious, his frail body had laid there on the dark ground, wand still clutched in one hand as if he was dreaming of ripping Harry in two.

Now, it all makes sense. Why and how someone so weak and vulnerable could and would duel so determinedly.

"Harry, take Aurors Weasley and Montague and go to the Rosier family home. Mr. Malfoy, if you would be so kind as to write down the location of the house, please."

Draco nods and quickly jots down the address on the parchment, while Harry sends his patronus to Ron and Elizabeth.

The room is a flurry of movement: The DMLE investigator, Wizengamot representative and Kingsley are deep in conversation near Kingsley's desk while Draco and Hermione seem to be talking quietly in the other corner.

In the very next moment, Ron and Elizabeth run into the room, Kingsley very quickly explains to them where they are going and why.

Ron walks over to Hermione, leans down to whisper something in her ear which makes her sigh. Before parting, he leans down and kisses her on the cheek.

Tearing his eyes away from his mates, Harry finds Draco walking toward him. He stops in front of Harry and hands him the parchment with the address on it, his fingers lingering on Harry's hand before pulling away.

"Be careful", he says softly before stepping back.

Harry's still processing everything he's been told about the Rosiers and Cenric Rosier in particular; he's dreading going to this mansion and finding a child who looks like Voldemort did in that graveyard years ago; and he's buzzing with adrenalin in his body.

He isn't sure which one of these things is responsible for him stepping forward and kissing Draco like he's going into a war, effectively silencing everyone in the room.

Someone coughs and clears their throat, Harry couldn't be sure if it was Ron or Kingsley himself, which prompts Draco to push Harry away.

Wiping his mouth away with the back of his hand, Harry winks at the flushing blond and turns to face Ron and Elizabeth.

"Right, let's go."

***

At the hearing for Cenric Rosier, Harry and Draco are both present to give evidence. The massive room is almost full, it reminds Harry of the trials after the war and the overflowing courtrooms then, people standing in the staircase even, to watch Death Eaters being punished for their crimes.

Without thinking, he reaches for Draco's hand and holds on tight.

***

Every single person is fixated on the light haired man standing in front of the Wizengamot, explaining how Rosier was able to escape for so long.

"It's like the traditional Regeneration potion with some notable differences, and a lot of black magic. So, as Harry first observed that the suspect could be using unicorn blood to make the Elixir of life, well he was half right. Adding unicorn blood to his Regeneration potion gave it some of the properties of the Elixir of life. It's ingenuous really, making that addition, as it made him self-sustained even when his body was too weak to function on its own."

More than a few suspicious looks are shot his way but Draco doesn't notice, or he doesn't care, and continues explaining the potion in a very Hermione-like manner.

"Then, a second addition was moonstone, which would provide the sickly child with relief and peace. There were a few more changes, which to a skilled potioneer like Cenric Rosier were easily understood and exploitable. Mr. Rosier was able to adapt the potion to keep his grandchild alive, if only in essence."

For the murder of three aurors, injuring a fourth, posing a threat to the general public, brewing an illegal potion etc., Cenric Rosier is sentenced to Azkaban.

What is to be done about young Fredrick, is a much more difficult decision. And Harry is ever so grateful that that particular decision is not his to make.

Kingsley will surely do what is best.

***

 

> **Potter to the rescue!**
> 
> _Auror Killer found half-dead; arrested and charged with murder, more on Page 5_
> 
> _Chosen One does photoshoot for Quibbler hours after arrest, rumoured saucy photos_
> 
> _Potter breaks silence on relationship with Malfoy heir: "We are very happy together."_
> 
>  
> 
> ** **
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Potter 2 - Dark wizards with Regeneration potions 0**
> 
> _Read all about the case that brought the Saviour back to England!_
> 
> _Potter about self-imposed exile: "I left because I did not want to be worshipped."_
> 
>  
> 
> ** **
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Boy Who Lived saves us again, breaks 37 Ministry laws en-route**
> 
> _Ministry: "Auror Potter arrested Cenric Rosier after arduous duel!"_
> 
>  
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> ** **
> 
>  
> 
>  

 

 

> **Death Eater presents evidence in Rosier murder case, old family ties revealed!**
> 
> _Harry Potter's lover, Draco Malfoy, presents evidence in Wizengamot: "Rosier used a Regeneration Potion."_
> 
>  
> 
> ** **
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Draco Malfoy behind Dragon Pox Potion, Ministry confirms!**
> 
> _Shacklebolt: "Mr. Malfoy has been working tirelessly in partnership with the Ministry. We are proud of his achievement!"_
> 
>  
> 
> _ _
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Malfoy heir is the mystery Wolfsbane brewer! Read all details here**!
> 
> Draco Malfoy confirmed brewer of improved Wolfsbane potion: "Mr. Malfoy has been developing the Wolfsbane potion for over two years."
> 
>  

 

***

"So what do you want to do if not be an Auror?"

When he had suggested everyone come around for a picnic/backyard camp fire, he had not expected half their year to show up. And he had also not expected to be asked serious questions like what does he plan to do with his life.

Looking around to make sure Draco isn't around to hear this, he says: "I'm not sure yet."

And like he's been summoned by the very words, the git shows up and snorts at the answer. Ginny, who had originally asked Harry the question looks like she's sorry she did.

Ron jumps in, which Harry would be grateful for if his mate wasn't completely plastered and sure to say something profoundly stupid.

And sure enough: "Upset the missus, have you?"

Draco reels around so fiercely towards Ron that a hush falls over the huge gathering. Everyone seems to be holding their breath and Harry's on stand-by to intervene in case Draco wants to hex Ron. His voice is painfully restrained when he spits out, "You what?"

Ron, finally sensing the dead silence around him and the murderous look on Draco's face, gulps down his beer and looks to Harry for help.

"Maybe you should slow down with the beer, Ron."

Ron's wide eyes and flushed face would be comical if Draco wasn't looking at both Harry and Ron with narrowed eyes and a flared nose. He looks like a bull ready to go and Ron's almost hiding behind Harry, it feels like a moment suspended in time.

Then, Draco sneers and quietly murmurs, "Watch it, Weasley", before he turns around and goes back into the house leaving everyone looking around wearily.

Luna's loud proclamation of how good the weather is and how the _brusselbees_ are enjoying the moonlight gets everyone chuckling and then they're back to casual conversation and enjoying themselves.

Hermione comes over and sits by Ron, rubbing his arm as if he's been through a traumatic event and Harry just doesn't know what to say. Ron quietly claims that he was just joking, didn't mean anything by it.

"I know, Ron. He's just a little strung up after the trial."

Hermione nods along, she was the who had intervened at the Ministry today when a reporter had questioned Draco's credentials as an expert witness in a murder trial, after all.

She takes the bottle from Ron'a hand and places it on the ground beside him, "He's also not completely comfortable with all of us yet. Look around, most of these people are not his mates and you said something that might come off as homophobic to him."

"But I didn't mean it--"

"I know that but he may not. I'm sure it'll be fine though, you two worked together on assignments and he knows your sense of humour. It's the trial, he's just coming down from it."

Harry excuses himself and goes back into the house, looking for his prickly fiance. 

He finds Draco standing at the kitchen sink, mumbling to himself: "--red haired bastard. The nerve of that little shit--"

He stops mid-sentence when Harry puts his arms around him from behind, but he doesn't relax into the embrace. Harry just stands there holding on tight and waits for the anger to seep out of Draco. And it does, a few moments later, and he settles back against Harry's chest.

"He didn't mean it."

"He better fucking not."

Resting his head on Draco's shoulder, Harry sighs and brushes his nose against the sharp jaw. Draco leans into the touch and sighs in response.

He can see Rose playing outside the window, her little legs carrying her through the garden as she chases a practice snitch fluttering close to the ground.

"You were great today, I was very proud. And entertained, I'm figuring out all these things about you that just make me mad. Never knew I'd find you explaining potions to a packed courtroom attractive. It was very uhm, enlightening."

"Well, if it was up to your liking, O Chosen One."

"Will you stop calling me that?"

"Will you stop being a sentimental git about everything?"

"Nope, not any time soon."

Draco groans when Harry places a wet kiss on his cheek.

"Get off me, you mutt."

When Hermione comes in to see where the two of them went off to, she once again finds them in a very undressed and engaged position. Harry doesn't notice her as his fingers dig into the table, spasming in rhythm with Draco's cock pounding into him. And Draco really couldn't care less even if he did see her, he's too busy fucking the Chosen One. 

***

Priya has been an over-excited puppy ever since they walked into the restaurant. In her excitement, she had even reached up and hugged Draco whose eyes had widened comically at the action.

Harry had really wanted to come here; for the food, yes, but also because this was one of the first places he had realized what Draco meant to him. He remembered every single time they came here and how badly he had been falling between each visit.

He also remembers that last time he had asked an empty room if Draco wanted to go get lunch together.

Anyway, the past is in the past.

All that matters now is that Draco is flushing like a new bride as Priya brings them their drinks and stands beside Draco, going on about how long it's been since they've been back and how much she missed them both.

"Are you still working together?"

Draco doesn't look like he's going to answer her so Harry takes it in stride, "No, but we live together now."

An even bigger grin takes over her face and the empty tray in her hand lands on the floor with a loud BANG, startling almost everyone in the place.

"I knew it! He is your special friend!"

Draco is sitting there with his thumb and finger on the bridge of his nose, eyes closed in frustration or embarrassment, Harry's not sure which. Priya doesn't seem to give a toss about it, and just continues her exclamations loudly enough for the other patrons in the restaurant to be glancing over at their table.

"I'm very happy for you, Draco. He is very handsome and he laughs at your bad jokes. But you'll have to teach him about Indian food, poor Harry always looks so lost when your order arrives. I'm sure you'll be fine; you are so patient, after all."

Harry tries to hide his smile behind his glass of lassi but Draco looks up with furious eyes and Harry just loses it.

Priya pats him on the shoulder and skips away to fetch their food, leaving him with a murderous git.

"Is this why you wanted to come here?"

"I could hardly have known she'd be this excited. And why didn't you tell me what she meant by 'special friend' all those months ago?"

"And what would I have said? 'Potter, I know you despise me and I loathe you equally, but our waitress reckons we're shagging?'

"Yes?"

And that's the first time Harry sees Draco rolling his eyes.

***

"Why were you never open about your preferences, Harry? Was it that you were ashamed? Did you think it was a sick predilection--"

"No."

Her mouth snaps shut at his answer just like he'd expected. Rita Skeeter is still expecting the sweet, naive eleven year old who will give her all the answers she wants.

Well, she's a decade too late to that party.

There's that fake smile that had fooled him when he was twelve. Now, it looks so pretentious that he just wants to get up and walk away. "I'm sorry? No?"

"No, it wasn't any of those things."

She looks baffled by his answer and her eyes have narrowed. Harry is enjoying this very much, watching her lose patience, second by second. He almost bites his cheek so she doesn't see him struggling not to smile in satisfaction.

"Well, what was it then?"

He looks straight at her, she startles a little at the direct gaze probably surprised because he has always avoided looking her in the eye. And if he's not mistaken, that's a little blush on her cheeks which--he's not even going to touch that with a ten-foot pole: "I didn't think it was any of your business."

Her left eye ticks, she looks like her head is going to explode any second. Harry is finding it a little hard not to giggle, to be quite honest.

"Excuse me?"

"I think your quill caught that."

Before she can say anything to that, he gets out of the chair and waves at her, walking away.

***

"--was very rude and offensive."

He cuts in Skeeter's complaints to Head Auror Robbards with a pointed, "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

"Just what are you insinuating, Mr. Potter?"

She looks like steam is going to come out of her ears in about 0.3 seconds, and Harry just swirls his drink around, casually smiling at someone across the room.

When she huffs in frustration, only then does he turn to her: "I'm not insinuating anything."

"Then what--"

"I'm very plainly saying that you must know rude and offensive since that's exclusively what you are and do."

Draco is hissing somewhere in the background and before anyone can say anything else, he leans in and in the most serious tone asks, "Would you like some Aloe Vera, Ms. Skeeter? That was a rough burn."

Harry almost snorts champagne on her dress.

And that is the story of how Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy end up on the cover of the Daily Prophet in a series of very unflattering photos. But, the readers of the Prophet know that something must have gone down for Rita Skeeter to be so vindictive toward the pair.

***

Conversations about their respective childhoods are few and far between. While talking about how much Harry loved living in France and specifically the French admiration for baking, the subject of treacle tart had come up and from there Harry had remembered the chocolate cake Draco had brought him on his birthday, and how much that had meant to him.

"It really was the moment I realised just how lucky I was that I came back and got to know you, and to have you even as a mate."

"Oh, don't be so sentimental, Potter. It was just a cake."

"A three layered cake on my birthday which I had completely forgotten about. A cake you asked your elf to make, the elf who bakes your birthday cakes an--"

"Okay, okay, fine. You win."

Sighing, he takes off his socks and starts to lay down on the sofa, his legs are half hanging off the side and his head finds its way onto Harry's lap. Harry sees the gesture for what it is, intimate.

Draco hardly ever initiates something so affectionate, so intimate. It's always Harry who has to go find him, who has to hug him or lay down beside him. So, to see Draco lay down like this without a word, it warms something in him.

Without a word, he brings his hand up to Draco's head. Slowly, he twirls a lock of hair around his index finger.

"You told me about that cousin of yours, the one who always got a fancy cake while you never even got a small one till Hagrid got you one. And I can imagine what a cake that must've been."

A few years ago, this same thing would've been said with a sneer and a cold laugh and Harry would've hexed Malfoy. Now, he's moving his head around on Harry's lap and saying all this in a sleepy sort of murmur and Harry is hit with just how surreal this is.

"You remember that day I first met you at Madam Malkin’s, and you were telling me about your father buying you something and your mother something else and how you’d convince him to buy you a broomstick even though first years aren’t allowed one? You reminded me of him, then. Of Dudley, my cousin.”

Lifting his head off, he looks up at Harry completely offended and spits out, “I reminded you of someone named _Dudley_?”

“That’s not the point, Draco.”

He pats the git's head like he was a kneazle and after an initial moment of resistance, he gives in and lowers his head once again. Closing his eyes, he says: “Oh, do enlighten me, Potter.”

"Well, up until then, I'd seen Dudley get everything he asked for. He would start screaming or crying and my uncle and aunt would buy him whatever he wanted. He thought 16 presents on his birthday were not enough. And then, I learned about the wizarding world and the first magical child my age I met was you. Complaining about how first years aren't allowed to fly and how you'd do it anyway. So, I thought you were like him, like Dudley."

He's silent for a while, his head in Harry's lap as he lays there on the sofa and doesn't say anything. Harry cards his fingers through pale blond hair he'd always wondered about, always wanted to touch to see how soft it was.

"Okay, I can understand that. But there was a reason why I was like that. Mother had always spoilt me rotten, and Father was usually good with buying me things and keeping me quiet. But he was also extremely manipulative. Always wanted me to be the best at everything so he could brag, and I could fly when I was five years old so of course I wanted to fly at Hogwarts. Wanted to make him proud of me, just wanted to hear those four words that just never seemed to come out of his mouth."

Harry doesn't know what to say to that, if he should say anything. Lucius Malfoy is the last man Harry would ever expect to be kind but he also hadn't ever suspected him of hurting his son. He'd always looked at Lucius and seen a father who'd do anything for his son.

Except now he knows that that was never true.

Lucius had physically and mentally abused Draco all through his childhood. He had the scars to prove it, and the nightmares.

While he's lost in his thoughts, Draco abruptly sits up almost knocking his face into Harry's. He's inches away from Harry and looking absolutely shocked with wide eyes and an open mouth, "Is that why you didn't shake my hand when I offered it to you?"

He tries to keep a straight face.

"No, that was more about you being a snobbish little shit."

And he isn't able to, because Draco looks even more shocked for a second before he realizes that Harry has jumped off the sofa and ran away. A moment too later, he jumps off too and chases after Harry, yelling, "Potter! Get back here, you speccy bastard--"

***

He's _always_ been so swept up in something or other, always running for his life or chasing dark wizards that this languid pace of the last two months has been equally relaxing and torturous. A massive house with its thunderous silence and it's sleepy pace has been keeping him company.

Kreacher constantly mutters and moans about his Mistress, whose portrait was removed after weeks of Draco trying to convince her with his sweet talk until finally he couldn't take it any more and he blasted the damn thing off the wall.

In the absence of Walburga Black's constant insults, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place seems like an entirely different place.

Sighing, he stretches to wake up his numb limbs and resettles on the sofa. This is home now, for him and for Draco. 

"Did you write up an official resignation?"

Draco is standing in the kitchen doorway with a teacup in one hand and the other on his cocked hip, looking like he's reprimanding a naughty child. He's been in a foul mood ever since Rita Skeeter went a little too far in her stalking and touched on a rather raw nerve.

And ever since, Harry has been on the receiving end of a massive temper tantrum. As much as he likes pushing Draco's buttons and winding him up, he doesn't particularly enjoy walking on egg shells in his own home. Oh how blissfully domestic this feels -- a pointed throat clearing pulls him away from his thoughts.

A nod just wouldn't do so Harry's about ready for another argument. "I will--"

"You'll have to write it in French since it's the French Ministry."

" _Oh really_? I had no idea."

Draco stops with his cup mid-air and glares at Harry with all the wrath of a true Malfoy.

"What? You asked for it. I'm not an idiot, y'know? I can do things on my own."

That doesn't garner a response, Draco goes back to his tea silently. And Harry knows that he has won this argument.

Then again, what does it matter. He gets off the sofa and walks up to Draco and his aura of doom.

"Are you still mad about that press release about the potio--- "

"Are you still asking stupid questions?"

Okay, he did walk into that one.

This is not a talking kind of day, he reckons. Because now he knows Draco so much better than he did when they first started this.

He knows that Draco has days where he wants to talk and share but he'll never start, so it's up to Harry to watch for the signs and badger the stupid git into talking. Then, of course, he'll pretend like it's a travesty and like he hates Harry for making him talk. But eventually, he'll share things that will surprise Harry. And when Harry will want to say something, Draco will walk away, silently asking him to never bring it up again.

He also knows that on some other days, Draco doesn't want to talk at all. He's angry or frustrated or feeling something else unpleasant but he wants to brood in it, wants to silently stew. And on these days, like today, Harry will just go to him and hold him. And Draco will let him. And then, five minutes later, he'll shake Harry off.

"Get off me, you crup."

And he'll go to the basement he had made into his potions lab in the first week of moving here. He'll spend hours there working on another world-changing potion, tire himself out so he won't be angry or frustrated or sad any more.

Harry knows all this, and he knows that Draco will come to bed when he's ready. So he lets him go and goes on about his own things, in the silence of the house with a cranky elf off somewhere in the attic and a mad potions master in the basement.

He looks over at the photo of his parents on the mantle and can't help but smile at them.

This is what Lily and James Potter would've wanted for him.

***

Hermione is telling them about her and Ron's most recent trip to Iceland and how they had particularly enjoyed the hot springs. She mentions swimming for hours in the springs and Draco gets this wistful look on his face, like he wants to go right now.

Harry, who is surprisingly being the most practical one, tries to say that the current weather is not really conducive to long swimming and neither is his eyesight.

Draco gets an irritated look on his face for a second before he says, "Pity you've got such bad eyes, can't even see a foot in front of you."

Harry doesn't think at all before he speaks, "Pity you've got such bad skin, look like a kebab two minutes in the sun."

That shuts Draco right up.

Ron snorts somewhere in the distance and Harry almost loses it too, but he knows he is the one who has to go home with Draco. Ron Wesley is an enabler who can laugh all he wants because he doesn't have to share a house with Draco. Draco, who is surely going to be in a snit after this little stint.

"Why are you being an arse?"

"You started it."

"Very mature answer, Potter. Well done."

***

"What're you doing in front of the telly?", Draco's voice has got that edge of annoyance that Harry has come to recognize as _'Entertain me, don't just sit there and enjoy yourself'._

He bites down on a smile, not wanting for Draco to catch it and realize that Harry has come a long way in decoding his irritations and annoyances and can in fact almost read him like a book: "Watching the news."

"Again?"

"Well, you see, it changes every day."

Draco looks like he's reconsidering his life choices so Harry jumps off the sofa and runs over to him with his best smile on, "Please don't leave me."

Draco turns around and walks away with a careless, "I'm thinking about it", thrown over his shoulder. But Harry can hear the smile in his voice, so he just follows the blond around the house like a puppy.

Until, Draco turns and snaps at him, "Stop following me around like a lost crup, will you?"

There's no humour in his voice that time and Harry values all his limbs so he goes back to the telly, feeling a little chastised but also a little spoilt since Draco's in the kitchen cooking dinner for them and it smells heavenly.

***

Draco's in a bit of a mood today, and Harry's been around him all day and listened to maudlin thoughts which Draco would never even say aloud if he wasn't as pissed as he is.

In result, Harry has been drinking a fair bit himself and is therefore not in control of his tongue.

Across from him on the sofa, Draco takes another sip of his whiskey and sighs, "It is the fourth today, fifth tomorrow."

"Well done, and what's the day after?"

Draco's eyes narrow dangerously, he looks about ready to hex Harry's bits off which prompts him to utter an apology before any such mishap.

"Sorry, I just--it's too late into the night."

The look on Draco's face is very clearly saying _'thin ice, Potter'_.

***

Draco thunders down the stairs following a loud thud, to find Harry sprawled across the carpeted floor. It isn't his best moment, not that he's had a lot of those, to look up and find the looming figure of a Malfoy looking down at him with a grimace on his face, "Oh, not again! Potter, why do you do this?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't fall on my face on purpose."

The scowl on Draco's face rivals Lucius Malfoy's and isn't that a happy thought!

Needless to say, Draco cottons on to the change in mood and counters with, "What? Why do you look like you've just swallowed a snitch?"

"At least I caught it", thank Merlin he at least had the good sense to mutter it under his breath.

Draco snaps, "What?"

Sheepishly, he rolls up off the floor and turns toward the kitchen, "Nothing, I said I want coffee."

They both know that's not what he said and he'll be eternally grateful to Draco for letting that one go. Maybe, this is what it means to be companions, he thinks.

Knowing when the other person is having a bad day, and not throwing a fit.

Later, of course, Draco gets him back: "Careful, Potter, don't trip on the carpet. Wouldn't want you swallowing any hairballs or rogue snitches."

And even later, when they are watching the Quidditch World Cup final at the stadium surrounded by almost everyone they know, Draco leans in and whispers, "Try not to accidentally swallow the snitch, Potter. I know that's a hobby of yours but it'll likely cause an international incident."

"I can just picture the headlines: 'The Chosen One gobbles down snitch at World Cup Final!'"

That's when he knows he won't be living this one down any time soon.

***

Yawning, Harry comes into the kitchen to find Draco mixing in his usual three spoons of sugar into his tea, snarling and sputtering under his breath.

"--the Chosen One! Sure, keep chanting that till it gets to his bloody head. As if his head isn't already big enough!"

Plastering himself to his git of a fiance's back, Harry sighs and asks him: "What're you muttering about?"

"Your legions of fans are outside, chanting your name like you're bloody Myron Wagtail!"

Smiling, Harry leans forward to rest his chin on Draco's shoulder. Thank Merlin that the tall git leans against the sink or else Harry'd never be able to reach his chin up to that bloody bony shoulder. "That's got you in a snit?"

"Why do they keep insisting on referring to you as the Chosen One? Why must they be so bloody irritating?!!"

Harry knows exactly what he's doing when he petulantly replies, "But I am the Chosen One."

Without a single word or look, Draco turns and steps out of his arms, walks away and out of the kitchen leaving Harry snickering to himself.

***

He knows he is royally toshed, and doesn't need anyone to tell him that. Well, most of it is from the potion Draco had given him earlier to help with the fever and chills he'd been having all through last night. He feels better now even though his head is swimming and he can't feel anything beyond immediate senses.

On top of it all, he had also drained Draco's glass of wine in a single gulp while the blond was answering a floo call in the next room. So yeah, Harry is absolutely toshed and can't feel his own fingers and _what is that colour? It's not blue, and it's not green and it's certainly not purple and definitely not red and what are the other colours? Yellow! No, it's not yellow and it's not orange--_

"Potter!"

Blinking away the haze, Harry focuses his eyes to find Draco standing over him with a concerned expression on his face. He's concerned. For Harry!

_Wait, his lips are moving. Is he talking?_

"--calling you for ages, what is wrong with you?"

Harry just smiles at him because _Draco is worried about him. Draco looks so good, and he is worried about Harry. Of all the people, he cares about Harry the most--_

"Potter? Are you listening to me? Why are you staring at my feet? Potter!"

He snaps his eyes up to find Draco leaning even lower over him, his face morphed into a scowl. No, Harry thinks, no scowling. You look much better with a smile, so he reaches up and arranges Draco's lips into a smile.

Grey eyes widen as Harry's fingers pull at Draco's cheeks, colour rising in the pale skin under his ministrations. His skin is so soft and his cheeks surprisingly squishy in Harry's hands, given how pointy and sharp he looks.

Biting his tongue in concentration, Harry moves his fingers up to Draco's eyebrows and presses down on the lines of his creased forehead. Draco is frozen in place, looking down at Harry as if he's never seen him before.

"What?", he asks, settling his hands on the nape of Draco's neck.

Draco blinks furiously, as if he's in a trance of his own. "Nothing", he says stiffly and goes to pull away.

Harry lets go with a smile and settles back into the sofa, staring at the ceiling and waiting for--

"You drank mY WINE??! POTTER!"

\--for that.

He sighs and stays where he is, eyes tracking the beautiful patters of the ceiling plaster when Draco's face comes back into view thus interrupting his careful analysis of the ceiling.

The blond looks a curious mixture of royally pissed and worried, his eyes narrowed and keenly raking across Harry's face. Harry just lays there, with a soft smile on his face.

"What are you doing?"

Harry just grins at him because he isn't doing anything. He's just laying down for a bit, is all.

Draco sits down by his head and Harry feels long fingers carding through his hair. His mind goes to another place and time: laying on a sofa in the Gryffindor common room with Hermione tracing her fingers through his mess of a hair.

A soft voice calling his name breaks him out of the memory, "Harry?"

He tilts his head up to see Draco looking at him, his face upside down.

"Why don't you like spiders?"

Immediately, Harry thinks back to something years ago. He can't remember quite what it was but his hands come up of their own accord as he answers Draco, "They have pincers."

And of course, he uses his fingers to demonstrate said pincers because he wants Draco to understand. But when he looks at Draco again, he finds the man biting down on a smile. His eyes though, full of mirth, betray the seriousness of his face.

Harry shifts his head in Draco's lap till he's comfortable and then pulls the hand back toward his head. Wordlessly, Draco resumes tracing his fingers through Harry's hair who is suddenly very sleepy and should definitely go to sleep now.

Just as he's being pulled under, he hears a soft murmur from above him: "I can't believe you killed Voldemort."

Pity he's already asleep or he'd tell Draco.

***

"Look. it's Harry Potter."

"That's Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter, isn't it?"

With every hushed whisper, Harry can feel himself getting less and less patient. This is why he'd left England, to avoid this every time he stepped outside.

More than himself though, he can feel Draco tensing beside him. Every step they walk, he can feel Draco stiffening beside him and the usual aura of 'don't look at me or speak to me' is even thicker around him today.

Harry consciously moves a little closer to Draco, their arms brush as they walk down the street. Draco looks up and his eyes find Harry already looking at him.

"Alright?", Harry asks softly.

Draco takes a deep breath and his hand finds Harry's, he entwines their fingers and holds on.

"I feel like a bloody trophy wife!"

Harry bursts out laughing at his exclamation and the petulant look on his face, he can't believe he's thinking this in regards to Draco Malfoy but the one word that's coming to mind while looking at the man beside him is: adorable.

"If anyone is the trophy wife here, it's me."

Draco's face transforms so quickly, it's almost unnerving. Gone is the furrowed brow and the thin line of his lips, instead a grin so wide appears on the pale face that he looks like some rendition of a Cheshire cat with all his teeth on display.

"Why, that's the first sensible thing you've said all year, Potter."

Harry just smiles and rubs his thumb along the back of his hand, already planning on telling Ron what Draco had said about being a trophy wife.

He can almost hear his best mate's peals of laughter in his mind.

***

The first thing he hears when he opens is eyes is a loud shriek. Well, actually, the reason he is awake and his eyes are open is because of that shriek which sounds suspiciously like a blond bastard Harry knows.

He's out of the bed and running down the stairs before he even realizes what he's doing. Without his glasses, he couldn't even see who was hurting Draco much less stop them so of course, he runs back into the room to get them off the side table and then in his hurry to go downstairs, slips on the carpet and almost breaks his face.

Nonetheless, he is Harry Potter and he will save and protect so he thunders down the stairs and follows more distressed sounds to the backyard. Throwing the door open, he skids to a stop with a wand in one hand and wet grass under his bare feet to find Draco standing opposite Hagrid and loudly exclaiming, "Get that bloody chicken out of here!"

The relief that overpowers him at the sight is immense and he sighs, body sagging against the closed door and wand lowering now that he knows no one is in any mortal danger. At the sound of his sigh, both Draco and Hagrid turn to face him and that's when he notices another set of beady eyes fixed on his face: Buckbeak.

Harry would step forward and pet the hippogriff if Draco wasn't glaring at him with the hatred of a thousand suns.

Happily unaware of the heated glare of the Malfoy heir trained on Harry's face, Hagrid waves and smiles at Harry with a decided, "How are ye, Harry?"

"Oh, I'm--I'm fine, Hagrid."

"Nice pyjamas, Harry."

At the sight of Hagrid's beard shaking with concealed laughter, Harry looks down to find his legs covered in Slytherin green silk pyjamas that do not belong to him.

Hagrid points to them with a thick finger and says, "'m sure Headmistress McGonagall will be impressed by this display of inter-house unity."

With his ears buzzing and his cheeks burning at hearing such a comment from the man who introduced him to the wizarding world at age eleven, Harry mumbles in response, "I heard a scream so I put on whatever I could find."

From the look of things, neither Hagrid nor Buckbeak believe that bleak excuse but--

"Harry, make him take away that chicken or I will--"

"It's not a chicken, it's a hippogriff, thank you very much."

"POTTER!"

He stands there breathing out of his nose, wondering how he ended up here: half asleep and barefeet in borrowed pyjamas, breaking up an argument between Hagrid and Draco Malfoy with Buckbeak staring at him with beady eyes and a look that says, 'Really, Harry Potter? This is your life now?'

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this time for real. 
> 
> That's all, folks!


End file.
